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diff --git a/39730-0.txt b/39730-0.txt index fd2b448..a37de17 100644 --- a/39730-0.txt +++ b/39730-0.txt @@ -1,29 +1,4 @@ - THE GIRL WHO HAD NOTHING - - - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost -no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Title: The Girl Who Had Nothing - -Author: Mrs. C. N. Williamson - -Release Date: May 18, 2012 [EBook #39730] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL WHO HAD NOTHING *** - - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 39730 *** Produced by Al Haines. @@ -3948,376 +3923,4 @@ And so it was that Joan Carthew’s career ended and her life began. Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London. - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL WHO HAD NOTHING *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39730 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the -General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and -distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the Project -Gutenberg™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered -trademark, and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you -receive specific permission. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Title: The Girl Who Had Nothing - -Author: Mrs. C. N. Williamson - -Release Date: May 18, 2012 [EBook #39730] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL WHO HAD NOTHING *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - -[Illustration: Cover art] - - - - - THE GIRL WHO HAD NOTHING - - - By - - MRS. C. N. WILLIAMSON - - - AUTHOR OF "THE LIGHTNING CONDUCTOR," ETC. - - - - - _ILLUSTRATIONS BY JOHN CAMERON_ - - - - - LONDON - - WARD LOCK & CO LIMITED - - 1905 - - - - - ---- - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER I--The Old Lady in the Victoria - CHAPTER II--The Old Lady's Nephew - CHAPTER III--A Deal in Clerios - CHAPTER IV--The Steam Yacht _Titania_ - CHAPTER V--The Landlady at Woburn Place - CHAPTER VI--The Tenants of Roseneath Park - CHAPTER VII--The Woman Who Knew - CHAPTER VIII--Lord Northmuir's Young Relative - CHAPTER IX--A Journalistic Mission - CHAPTER X--The Coup of "The Planet" - CHAPTER XI--Kismet and a V.C. - CHAPTER XII--A New Love and an Old Enemy - - ---- - - - - -CHAPTER I--The Old Lady in the Victoria - - -Joan Carthew had reason to believe that it was her birthday, and she had -signalised the occasion by running away from home. But her birthday, -and her home, and her running away, were all so different from things -with the same name in the lives of other children, that the celebration -was not in reality as festive as it might seem if put into print. - -In the first place, she based her theory as to the date solely upon a -dim recollection that once, eons of years ago, when she had been a -petted little creature with belongings of her own (she was now twelve), -there had been presents and sweets on the 13th of May. She thought she -could recall looking eagerly forward to that anniversary; and she argued -shrewdly that, as her assortment of agreeable memories was small, in all -likelihood she had not made a mistake. - -In the second place, Joan's home was a Brighton lodging-house, where she -was a guest of the landlady, and not a "paying" guest, as she was -frequently reminded. In that vague time, eons ago, she had been left at -the house by her mother (who was, it seemed, an actress), with a sum of -money large enough to pay for her keep until that lady's return from -touring, at the end of the theatrical season. The end of the season and -the end of the money had come about the same time, but not the expected -mother. The beautiful Mrs. Carthew, whose professional name was Marie -Lanchester, had never reappeared, never written. Mrs. Boyle had made -inquiries, advertised, and spent many shillings on theatrical papers, -but had been able to learn nothing. Mr. Carthew was a vague shadow in a -mysterious background, less substantial even than a "walking gentleman," -and Mrs. Boyle, feeling herself a much injured woman, had in her first -passion of resentment boxed Joan's ears and threatened to send the -"brat" to the poorhouse. But the child was in her seventh year and -beginning to be useful. She liked running up and downstairs to answer -the lodgers' bells, which saved steps for the two overworked servants; -and, of course, when she became a financial burden instead of the means -of lightening burdens, it was discovered that she could do many other -things with equal ease and propriety. She could clean boots and knives, -wash dishes, help make beds, and carry trays; she could also be slapped -for misdeeds of her own and those of others, an act which afforded -invariable relief to the landlady's feelings. As years went on, further -spheres of usefulness opened, especially after the Boyle baby came; one -servant could be kept instead of two; and taking everything into -consideration, Joan's hostess decided to continue her charity. -Therefore, the child could have answered the conundrum, "When is a home -not a home?" out of the stores of her intimate experience. - -In the third place, she had only run away as far as one of the shelters -on the Marine Parade; she had brought the landlady's baby with her, and, -lurking grimly in the recesses of her mind, she had the virtuous -intention of going home again when Minnie should be hungry enough to -cry, at tea-time. - -Joan was telling the two-year-old Minnie a fairy story, made up out of -her own head, all about a gorgeous princess, and founded on the -adventures she herself would best like to have, when, just as the -narrative was working towards an exciting climax, a girl of Joan's own -age came in sight, walking with her governess. - -The story broke off short between Joan's little white teeth, which -suddenly shut together with a click. This did not signify much, as far -as the Boyle baby was concerned, for Joan unconsciously wove fairy tales -more for her own pleasure than that of her companion, and as a matter of -fact the warmth of the afternoon sunshine had acted as "juice of poppy -and mandragora" upon Minnie's brain. Her small, primrose-yellow head -was nodding, and she was unaware that the story had ended abruptly just -as the princess was beguiling the dragon, and that a girl almost as fine -as the princess herself was approaching. - -The new-comer was about twelve or thirteen, and she was more exquisitely -dressed than any child Joan remembered to have met. Perhaps, if the -apparition had been a good deal younger or older, the lodging-house -drudge would not have observed so keenly, or realised with a quick stab -of passionate pain the illimitable gulf dividing lives. But here was a -girl of her own age, her own height, her own needs and capacities, and -yet--the difference! - -It struck her like a thrust of some thin, delicate surgical instrument -which could inflict anguish, yet leave no trace. Joan's whole life was -spent in dreaming; without the dreams, existence at 12, Seafoam Terrace -would not have been tolerable to a young creature with the nerves of a -racehorse and the imagination of a Scheherazade. She lived practically -a double life within herself, but never until this moment had she been -consciously jealous of the happier fate of a fellow-creature. - -In looking from the shelter where she sat in shadow, at the other girl -who walked in sunshine, she knew the crunching pain of the monster's -fangs. - -The other girl had long, fair hair; she wore white muslin, foaming with -lace frills, white silk stockings, and shoes of white suede. Her face -was shaded by a great, rose-crowned, leghorn hat, which flopped into -soft curves and made a picture of small features which without it might -have seemed insignificant. The magnetism that was in Joan Carthew's -eyes forced the girl to turn and throw a glance as she passed at the -shabby child in faded brown serge (a frock altered from a discarded one -of Mrs. Boyle's) who sat huddled in the shelter, with a tawdrily dressed -baby asleep by her side. The glance had all the primitive, merciless -disdain of a sleek, fortunate young animal for a miserable, hunted one, -and Joan felt the meaning of it in her soul. - -"Why should she have everything and I nothing?" was the old-new question -which shaped itself wordlessly in the child's brain. "She looks at me as -if I were a rat. I'm not a rat! I'm as good as she is, if I had her -clothes. I'm cleverer, and prettier, too, I know I am--heaps and heaps. -Oh! I want to be like her, only better--I must be--I shall!" - -She quivered with the fierceness of her revolt against fate, yet in it -was no vulgar jealousy. The other girl's pale blue eyes, in one -contemptuous glance, had found every patch on her frock and shoes, had -criticised her old hat, and sneered at her little, rough, work-worn -hands, scorning her for them as if she were a creature of an inferior -race; but Joan had no personal hatred for the happier child, no wish for -revenge, no desire to take from the other what she had. The feeling -which shook her with sudden, stormy passion was merely the sharp -realisation of injustice, the conviction that by nature she herself was -worthy of the good things she had missed, the savage resolve to have -what she ought to have, at any cost. - -It was not tea-time yet, and Minnie was happily asleep; Joan was certain -to be scolded just as sharply on her return as if she had stopped away -for hours longer, therefore she might as well have drained her birthday -cup of stolen pleasure to the dregs; but the good taste of the draught -was gone. She yearned only to go home, to get the scolding over, and to -have a few minutes to herself in the tiny back room which she shared -with the baby. There seemed to be much to think of, much to decide. - -The child waked Minnie, who was cross at being roused, and refused to -walk. The quickest way of triumphing over the difficulty was to carry -her, and this method Joan promptly adopted. But the baby was heavy and -fractious. She wriggled in her young nurse's grasp, and just as Joan -had staggered round the corner of Seafoam Terrace, with her -disproportionate burden, she tripped and fell, under the windows of No. -12. - -Minnie roared, and there was an echoing shriek from the house. Mrs. -Boyle, who had been looking up and down the street in angry quest of her -missing drudge, saw the catastrophe and rushed to the rescue of her -offspring. She snatched the baby, who was more frightened than hurt, -and holding her by one arm, proceeded to administer chastisement to -Joan. - -Instinctively she knew that the girl was sensitive and proud, though she -had no kindred feelings in her own soul, and she delighted in -humiliating her drudge before the whole street. As she screamed -reproaches and harsh names, raining a shower of blows on Joan's ears and -head and burning cheeks, a face appeared in at least one window of each -house along the Terrace. Though a cataract of sparks cascaded before -the child's eyes, somehow she saw the faces and imagined a dozen for -every one. - -The shame seemed to her beyond bearing. She forgot even her love for the -baby, which (with the dreams) was the bright thread in the dull fabric -of her existence. After this martyrdom, she neither could nor would -live on in Seafoam Terrace, which with all its eyes had seen her beaten -like a dog. - -"Into the house with you, you lazy, good-for-nothing brat!" panted Mrs. -Boyle, when her hand was tired of smiting; and with a push, she would -have urged the girl towards the open front door, but Joan turned -suddenly and faced her. - -"No!" she cried, "I won't be your servant any more! I've done with you. -I will never go into your hateful house again, until I come back as a -grand lady you will have to bow down to and worship." - -These were grandiloquent words, and Mrs. Boyle would either have laughed -with a coarse sneer, or struck Joan again for her impudence, had not the -look in the child's great eyes actually cowed her for the moment. In -that moment the thin girl of twelve, whom she had beaten, seemed to grow -very tall and wonderfully beautiful; and in the next, she had gone like -a whirlwind which comes and passes before it has been realised. - -Joan was desperate. Her newly formed ambition and her stinging shame -mounted like frothing wine to her hot brain. She was in a mood to kill -herself--or make her fortune. - -For a time she flew on blindly, neither knowing nor caring which way she -went. By and by, as breath and strength failed, she ran more slowly, -then settled into a quick, unsteady walk. She was on the front, running -in the direction of Hove, and in the distance a handsome victoria with -two horses was coming. The sun shone on the silver harness and the -horses' satin backs. There was a coachman and a groom in livery, and in -the carriage sat an old lady dressed in grey silk, of the same soft tint -as her hair. - -Joan had seen this old lady in her victoria several times before, and -had pretended to herself, in one of her glittering dreams, that the lady -took a fancy to her and proposed adoption. - -Now, in a flash of thought, which came quick as the glint of light on a -bird's wing, the child told herself that this thing must happen. She -had no home, no people, nothing; she would stake her life on the one -throw which might win all or lose all. - -Without stopping to be afraid, or to argue whether she were brave or -foolhardy, she ran forward and threw herself in front of the horses. -The coachman pulled them up so sharply that the splendid pair plunged, -almost falling back on to the victoria, but he was not quick enough to -save the child one blow on the shoulder from an iron-shod hoof. - -In an instant the groom was in the road and had snatched her up, with a -few gruff words which Joan dimly heard and understood, although she had -just enough consciousness left to feign unconsciousness. - -"How dreadful! how dreadful!" the old lady was exclaiming. "You must -put the poor little thing in the carriage, and I'll drive to the nearest -doctor's." - -"Better let me take her in a cab to a hospital, my lady," advised the -groom. "It wasn't our fault. She ran under the horses' feet. Tomkins -and me can both swear to that." - -The arbitress of Joan's fate appeared to hesitate, and the child thought -best to revive enough to open her eyes (which she knew to be large and -soft as a fawn's) for one imploring glance. In the fall which had -caused her to drop the Boyle baby, she had grazed her forehead against a -lamp-post, and on the small, white face there remained a stain of blood -which was effective at this juncture. She started, put out her hand, -and groped for the old lady's dress, at which she caught as a drowning -man is said to catch at a straw. - -"On second thoughts, I will take her home, if she can tell me where she -lives. She seems to be reviving," said the lady. "Where do you live, my -poor little girl?" - -"I--don't live anywhere," gasped Joan, white-lipped. "I haven't any -mother or any home, or anything. I wanted to die." - -"Oh, you poor little pitiful thing! What a sad story!" crooned the old -lady. "You shall go to _my_ home, and stop till you get well, and I -will buy you a doll and lots of nice toys." - -The rapidly recovering Joan determined that, once in the old lady's -house, she would stop long after she had got well, and that she would, -sooner or later, have many things better than toys. But she smiled -gratefully, faintly, looking like a broken flower. The groom was -directed to place her on the seat, in a reclining posture, and she was -given the old lady's silk-covered air-cushion to rest her head upon. -She really ached in every bone, but she was exaggerating her sufferings, -saying to herself: "It's come! I've walked right into the fairy story, -and nothing shall make me walk out again. I've got nobody to look after -me, so I'll have to look after myself and be my own mamma. I can't help -it, whether it's right or wrong. I don't know much about right and -wrong, anyhow, so I shan't bother. I've got to grow up a grand, rich -lady; my chance has come, and I'd be silly not to take it." - -Having thus disposed of her conscience--such as her wretched life had -made it--Joan proceeded to faint again, as picturesquely as possible. -Her pretty little head, rippling over with thick, gold-brown hair, fell -on the grey silk shoulder and gave the kindly, rather foolish old heart -underneath a warm, protecting thrill. The child's features were lovely, -and her lashes very long and dark. If she had been ugly, or even plain, -in spite of her appealing ways, Lady Thorndyke (the widow of a rich City -knight) would probably have agreed to the groom's suggestion; but Joan -did not overestimate her own charms and their power. A quarter of a -century ago Lady Thorndyke had lost a little girl about the age of this -pathetic waif, and she had had no other child. There was a nephew on -the Stock Exchange, but Lady Thorndyke was interested in him merely -because she thought it her duty, though he had been brought up to take -it for granted that he would be her heir. In truth, the lonely woman -had half unconsciously sighed all her life for romance and for love. -She had never had much of either, and now, in this tragic child who -clung to her and would not be denied, there was promise of both. - -So Joan was borne in supreme spiritual triumph and slight bodily pain to -the big, old-fashioned Brighton house where her new protectress spent -the greater part of the year. She was put into a bed which smelled of -lavender and felt like a soft, warm cloud; she went through the ordeal -of being examined by a doctor, knowing that her whole future might -depend upon his verdict. She lay sick and quivering with a thumping -heart, lest he should say: "This child is perfectly well, except for a -bruise and a scratch or two. There is nothing to prevent her being sent -home." But in her anxiety Joan had worked herself into a fever. The -doctor was a fat, comfortable man, with children of his own, and the -escaped drudge could have worshipped him when he announced that she was -in a highly nervous state, and would be better for a few days' rest, -good nursing, and nourishing food. - -She had arnica and plasters externally, and internally beef-tea. Then -she told her story. Had it been necessary, Joan would have plunged into -a sea of fiction, but she had enough dramatic sense to perceive that -nothing could be more effective than the truth, dashed in with plenty of -colour. - -Joan's memory was as vivid as her imagination. She was fired to -eloquence by her own wrongs; and her word-sketch of the poor baby -deserted by a beautiful, mysterious actress, her picturesque conjectures -as to that actress's noble husband, the harrowing portrait of her -angelic young self as a lodging-house drudge, the final climax, painting -the savage punishment in the street, and her resolve to seek refuge in -death (the one fabrication in the tale), affected the secretly -sentimental heart of the City knight's widow like music. - -"I would rather have been trampled to death under your horses' feet than -go back!" sobbed the child. - -"Don't be frightened and excite yourself, my poor, pretty little dear," -Lady Thorndyke soothed her. "No harm shall come to you, I promise -that." - -Joan's instinctive tact had been sharpened to diplomacy by the constant -need of self-defence. She said no more; she only looked; and her eyes -were like those of a wounded deer which begs its life of the hunter. - -Lady Thorndyke began to turn over various schemes for Joan's advantage; -but that same evening, which was Saturday, her nephew, George Gallon, -arrived from town to spend Sunday with his aunt. She told him somewhat -timidly about the lovely child she was sheltering, and the hard-mouthed, -square-chinned young man threw cold water on her projects. He said that -the girl was no doubt a designing little minx, who richly deserved what -she had got from the charitable if quick-tempered woman who gave her a -home. He advised his aunt to be rid of the young viper as soon as -possible, and meanwhile to leave the care of her entirely to servants. - -His strong nature impressed itself upon Lady Thorndyke's weak one, as -red-hot iron cauterises tender flesh. She believed all he said while he -was with her, and conceived a distrust of Joan; but Gallon had an -important deal on in the City for Monday, and was obliged to leave -early, having extracted a half-promise from his aunt that the intruder -should go forth that day, or at latest the next. - -He had not seen Joan Carthew, and therefore had not reckoned on her -strength and fascination as forces powerful enough to fence with his -influence. - -Joan felt the difference in her patroness's manner, as a swallow feels -the coming of a storm. She knew that there had been a visitor, and she -guessed what had happened. She grew cold with the chill of presentiment, -but gathered herself together for a fight to the death. - -"You look much better this morning, my dear," began Lady Thorndyke -nervously. "You will perhaps be well enough to get up and be dressed by -and by, to drive out with me, and choose yourself a doll, or anything -you would like. You will be glad to hear that--that my nephew and I -called on Mrs. Boyle yesterday, and--she is sorry if she was harsh. In -future, you will not be living on her charity. I shall give her a small -yearly sum for your board and clothing. You will be sent to school, as -you ought to have been long ago, and really I don't see how she managed -to avoid this duty. But in any case you will be happy." - -Joan turned over on her face, and the bed shuddered with her tearing -sobs. She was not really crying. The crisis was too tense for tears. - -"Don't, dear, don't," pleaded Lady Thorndyke, feeling horribly guilty. -"I will see you sometimes, and----" - -"See me sometimes!" echoed the child. "You are the only person who has -ever been kind to me. I can't live without you now. I won't try. Oh, -it was cruel to bring me here and show me what happiness could be, just -to drive me away again into the dark!" - -"But----" the distressed old lady had begun to stammer, when the child -slipped out of bed and fell at her protectress's feet. - -"Keep me with you!" she implored. "I'll be your servant. I'll live in -the kitchen. I'll eat what your dog eats. Only let me stay." - -She wound her slim, childish arms round Lady Thorndyke's waist, her eyes -streamed with tears at last; her beautiful hair curled piteously over -the grey-silk lap. She was at that moment a great actress, for though -she was honestly grateful, she neither wished nor intended to live in -the kitchen and eat what the dog ate. She would be a child of the house -or she would be nothing. Her beauty, her despair, and her humility were -irresistible. Lady Thorndyke forgot George Gallon and clasped the child -in her arms, crying in sympathy. "If you care so much, dear, how can I -let you go?" she whimpered. - -"I care enough to die for you, or to die if I lose you!" Joan vowed. - -"You shall not die, and you shall not lose me!" exclaimed the old lady, -remembering her nephew now and defying him. "You shall stay and be my -little girl." - -Joan did stay. Before the week ended, and another visit from George -Gallon was due, she had so entwined herself round Lady Thorndyke's heart -that the rather cowardly old woman had courage to face her nephew with -the news that she meant to keep the waif whom "Providence had sent her." - - - - -CHAPTER II--The Old Lady's Nephew - - -At first there was no question of formal adoption. Joan simply stayed -on and was allowed to feel that she had a right to stay. Gallon did all -he could to oust her, for his mind had telescopic power and brought the -future near. He feared the girl, but he dared not actually offend his -aunt, lest he should lose at once what he wished to safeguard himself -against losing later. - -The child made Lady Thorndyke happier than she had ever been. Her -presence created sunshine. She was never naughty like other children; -she was never sulky nor disagreeable. A governess was procured for her, -a mild, common-place lady whom Joan despised and astonished with her -progress. "I was born knowing a lot of things which she could never -learn," the little girl told herself scornfully. But she did not -despise George Gallon, whom she occasionally saw, nor did she exactly -fear him, because she believed that she would be able to hold her own in -case the day ever came for a second contest, as she foresaw it would. - -When she had learned all that the governess knew, and rather more -besides, she was sent to a boarding-school in Paris to be "finished." -After her first term, she came back to Brighton for the Christmas -holidays, so grown up, so beautiful, and so distinguished that Lady -Thorndyke was very proud. "What shall I give you for Christmas, my -dear?" she asked. "A diamond ring?" - -Joan kissed her withered leaf of a hand. - -"If you love me," she said, "give me the right to call myself your -daughter. That is the one thing in the world you have left me hungry -for. Will you adopt me, so that I can feel I am your own, own child? -Think what it would be if any one ever claimed me and took me away from -you!" - -Joan's love was not all a pretence. She would have been a monster if it -had been, instead of the mere girl of seventeen she was, with a large -nature, and capacities for good which had been stunted and turned the -wrong way. But the vicissitudes of life had taught her to be even more -observant than she was critical, and she knew as well how to manage Lady -Thorndyke as if the kind old creature had been a marionette, worked with -strings. It was not necessary to let her benefactress know all that was -in her mind, nor how she had calculated that to be the rich woman's -legally adopted daughter ought to mean being her heiress as well. While -she pleaded to be Lady Thorndyke's "own, own child," she was saying to -herself: "I will make a good deal better use of the money than that -hateful George Gallon would." - -No normal young man, and no sentimental old lady, could have doubted the -disinterestedness of a girl with eyes like Joan Carthew's. Lady -Thorndyke was delighted with the dear child's affection, and promptly -sent for her lawyer to talk over the matter of a formal adoption. She -also announced her intention of altering her will, and leaving only -twenty thousand pounds to her nephew, the bulk of her property to Joan, -"who would no doubt be greatly surprised." - -Thinking it but fair that George should be prepared for this change in -his prospects, she told him what she intended to do, in the presence of -a friend, lest there should be a scene. - -There was no scene, for George was a sensible man, and saw that a little -butter on his bread was better than none. But he hated Joan, and -respected her at the same time because she had triumphed. He was not -quite beaten yet, however. He had a talk, which he hoped sounded manly -and frank, with his young rival, told Joan that he bore her no grudge, -and paid her a compliment. When she went back to school, flowers and -sweets began to arrive from "Cousin George"; and the girl saw the game -he was playing and smiled. - -When she came home for Easter, he proposed. He got her on a balcony, by -moonlight, where he said that he had loved her for years, and could not -wait any longer to speak out what was in his heart. - -"Your heart!" laughed Joan, with all the insolence of a beautiful, -spoiled young heiress of eighteen, who has pined for revenge upon a -hated man, and got it at last. "Your heart!" It was delicious to throw -policy to the wind for once and be frankly herself. She was thoroughly -enjoying the situation, as she stood with the pure radiance of the -moonlight shining down upon her bright head and her white, filmy gown. -"What a fool you must think me, Mr. Gallon! It's your pockets you would -have me fill, not your heart. I acknowledge I have owed you a debt for -a long time, but it's not a debt of love. When I was a forlorn, -friendless child, you tried to turn me out into the cold; and if I -hadn't been stronger than you, you would have succeeded. Instead, it was -I who did that. I've always meant to pay, for I hate debts. No, I will -not marry you. No; nothing that your aunt means to give me shall be -yours. Now I have paid, and we are quits." - -[Illustration: "'No, I will not marry you.'"] - -George Gallon was cold with fury. "Don't be too sure," he said in his -harsh voice, which Joan had always hated. "They laugh best who laugh -last." - -"I know that," the girl retorted; and passing him to go indoors, where -Lady Thorndyke dozed after dinner, she threw over her shoulder a laugh -to spice her words. - -The next day she went back to school, pleased with herself and what she -had done, for she was no longer in the least afraid of George Gallon. - -Some things are in the air. It was in the air at school that Joan would -be a great heiress. The girls were very nice to her, and Joan enjoyed -their flatteries, though she saw through them and made no intimate -friends. When in June, shortly before the coming of the summer -holidays, the girl was telegraphed for, because Lady Thorndyke had had a -paralytic stroke and was dying, there was a sensation in the school. Of -course, as Joan would now inherit something like a million, she would -not return, but after her time of mourning would come out in Society, -well chaperoned, be presented, and probably marry at least a viscount. -The other girls were nicer than ever; tears were shed over her, and -farewell presents bestowed. - -When Joan arrived in England, Lady Thorndyke was dead, and the girl was -sad, for she realised how well she had loved her benefactress. After -the funeral came the reading of the will. The dead woman's adopted -daughter, the servants, and George Gallon were the only persons present -besides the lawyer. Joan's heart scarcely quickened its beating, for -she was absolutely confident. Any surprise which might come could be -merely a matter of a few thousands more or less. She sat leaning back -in an armchair, very calm and beautiful in her deep mourning. George -Gallon's eyes never left her face, and they lit as at last she lifted -her head, with bewilderment on the suddenly paling face. - -There had been a few bequests to servants and to a favourite charity. -Everything else which Lady Thorndyke died possessed of was left -unconditionally to her nephew, George Gallon. There was no mention of -Joan Carthew. The will was dated ten years before. Lady Thorndyke had -put off making the new one, and death had rendered the delay -irrevocable. Joan Carthew had not a penny in the world; save for her -education, her clothes, and the memory of six happy years, she was no -better off than on the day when she threw herself under Lady Thorndyke's -carriage. - -[Illustration: "Joan Carthew had not a penny in the world."] - -At first she could not believe that it was true. It was like having -rolled a heavy stone almost to the top of an incredibly steep hill, to -find oneself suddenly at the bottom, crushed under the stone. But the -solicitor's stilted sympathy, and the look in George Gallon's eyes, -which said: "Now perhaps you are sorry for having made a fool of -yourself," brought her roughly face to face with the truth. At the same -time she was stimulated. The words, the look, braced her to assume -courage, if she had it not. - -She was down--very far down; but she was young, she was beautiful, she -was brave, and life had early taught her to be unscrupulous. The world -was, after all, an oyster; she would open it yet somehow and make it -hers; this was a vow. - -When the solicitor had gone, George remained. The house was his house -now. - -"What do you intend to do?" he inquired. - -"I have my plans," Joan answered. - -In the man's veins stirred a curious thrill, which was something like -dread. The girl was wonderful, and formidable still, not to be -despised. He half feared her, yet he could not resist the temptation to -humiliate the creature who had laughed at him. - -"It is a pity you never learned anything useful, like typing and -shorthand," said he patronisingly. "If you had, I would have taken you -into our office as secretary. There's two pounds a week in the job, and -that's better than the wages of a nursery governess, which, in the -circumstances, you will, no doubt, be thankful to get. After what has -passed between us, you would hardly care, I suppose, to accept charity -from me, even if I were inclined to offer it." - -"I would take no favour from you," said Joan, in an odd, excited voice. -"But I _will_ accept that secretaryship; you'll find me competent." - -George stared. "You don't know what you are talking about. You have no -knowledge of typing or shorthand." - -"I am expert in both. I thought, as a woman with large property, the -accomplishments might be useful to me, and I insisted on taking them up -at school instead of one or two others more classical but not as -practical." - -"You would actually come and work in my office, almost as a menial, on a -salary of two pounds a week, while I enjoy the million you expected -would be yours?" - -"Beggars mustn't be choosers," returned Joan, drily. "You don't -withdraw the offer?" - -"No-o," replied George slowly, doubtful whether his scheme of -humiliation had been quite wise, yet finding a certain pleasure in it -still. "The girl's expression is queer," he said to himself. "She -looks as if she had something up her sleeve." - -He was right. Joan had something "up her sleeve," something too small -to be visible, yet large enough, perhaps, to be the seed of fortune. - - - - -CHAPTER III--A Deal in Clerios - - -George Gallon had lately left a well-known firm of stockbrokers, in -which he had been junior partner, and set up business on his own -account. He had started at a trying time, about the close of the Boer -war, when the financial world was in a state of depression; but he had -since brought off two or three _coups_ for his clients and himself, and -though he was unpopular, he had begun to be talked of among a limited -circle in the City as a man who would succeed. - -Joan Carthew had heard "George's luck" discussed by guests at Lady -Thorndyke's, when she had been at home from school on her holidays; -therefore it was that she had so promptly accepted the offer thrown to -her in derision, as a bone is flung to a chained dog. "If I keep my -eyes and ears open, I shall get tips," was the thought that flashed into -her mind. - -If Joan had been an ordinary eighteen-year-old girl, she would have -faltered before the difficulty of turning such "tips" to her own -advantage, on a salary of two pounds a week; but she would not have -entered George Gallon's service if she had been one to falter before -difficulties; and three days after the reading of the will which left -the girl a pensioner on her own wits, she presented herself at the -office in Copthall Court. - -It was early, and Gallon had not yet arrived. However, his curiosity to -see whether Joan would really keep her engagement brought him to the -City half an hour earlier than usual. When he came in, there sat at an -inner office, at the desk used by his late stenographer, a young woman -plainly dressed in black, though not in mourning deep enough to depress -the spirits of the beholder. - -It was Joan Carthew. She had already taken off her hat and hung it on a -peg. Gallon noticed instantly that her beautiful golden-brown hair was -dressed more simply than he had seen it. Every detail of her costume -was suited to the new part she was about to play--that of the business -woman. - -"Good morning, Mr. Gallon," she said crisply. "Your head clerk told me -this would be my desk. I have brought my own typewriter. I hope you -don't mind. You know, from the test you made the other day, that I take -down quickly from dictation, and that my typing is clear. I am ready to -begin work whenever you are." - -"Glad to find you so businesslike," said Gallon, uncomfortable in spite -of himself, though there was a keen relish in the situation. - -"You will, I hope, never find me anything else," quietly replied Joan. - -So the new _rgime_ began. At first, for some days, the man was ill at -ease, could not collect his thoughts for dictation, and stammered in his -speech. He regretted that his desire to humiliate the girl had tempted -him to offer this position; but Joan's attitude was so tactful, so -unobtrusive, that little by little he forgot his awkwardness and even -the meanness of his motive in making her his dependent. He almost -forgot that he had ever asked her to marry him; and because he found her -astonishingly clever and useful, he waived the idea of further insults -which had flitted through his head when first the dethroned heiress -became his secretary. - -One autumn morning, Gallon was late. Joan sat waiting in his office, and -had opened such correspondence as was not marked "Private," had typed -several letters ready for her employer's signature, and having no more -business which could be transacted until he appeared, began to glance -through an illustrated Society weekly which she took in. This paper she -always read with eagerness; not because she had the morbid interest of -an outsider in the doings of Society, with a capital S, but because any -information she could glean about important people might be of service -in the career to which she undauntedly looked forward. - -On one page of this particular paper, country houses, electric-launches, -libraries, motor-cars, and even family jewels were advertised; and it -was an absorbing page to Joan. To-day she gazed long at the -reproduction of a handsome steam-yacht, which for some weeks past had -been advertised for sale, for the sum of twelve thousand pounds. Only a -few months ago, she had been planning to have some day a yacht of her -own. It had been one of the many pleasant things she had meant to do -with Lady Thorndyke's money. - -"I shouldn't mind owning the _Titania_, if she's as good as her -photograph," the girl was thinking, when George Gallon and a fat, -foreign-looking man came in. - -"You can go back into the next room, Miss Carthew," said George, -abruptly. "I shall not need you at present, and you may tell them -outside that I am not to be disturbed." - -Joan rose and walked into the outer office, where the three clerks, who -were all more or less in love with the beautiful secretary, glanced up -joyfully from their work at sight of her. The youngest, whose desk was -close to the door, had already proposed. He was a dreamy youth with a -fluffy brain, but his father was a rich man known in the City as "the -Salmon King," who cherished hopes that one day his son would cut a -figure on the Stock Exchange. These family details the young man had -confided to Joan as a lure to matrimony, and though she had answered -that he was a "foolish boy," and nothing was farther from her intention -than to settle down as Mrs. Tommy Mellis, she had not in so many words -refused the honour. - -Now she whispered a request that, if he had still a regard for her, he -would slip away and buy a box of chocolates, for the need of which she -was perishing. A moment later Tommy was out of his chair, and Joan was -in it. His was the one seat in the room where conversation in Gallon's -private office could by any means be overheard; and Gallon was aware -that whatever might go in at Tommy's right ear promptly went out at the -left, without leaving the smallest impression of its meaning. - -"Is the deal certain to come off?" she heard George inquire. - -"Sure as the sun is to rise to-morrow," replied another voice with a -foreign accent. "You are the only outsider in the know. That's worth -something, isn't it?" - -"It's worth what I've promised for it." - -"At least that. And I want an advance to-day." - -"In such a hurry? Remember I shan't make anything, or be sure you -haven't fooled me, for weeks. Still, I can manage a hundred." - -"I need ten times that." - -"You'll have it the day the Clerios are taken over." - -"'Sh! not so loud! And no names, for Heaven's sake, man!" - -"Oh, that's all right. The clerk near the door is a fool. The only one -out there with any real brains is a girl, but she doesn't know the -difference between Clerios and clerics. That's why I employ a woman for -a secretary. She spends her spare energy on the fashions, and doesn't -bother about things which are none of her business." - -In spite of this protest, Gallon dropped his voice. Only a word here -and there started out of the broken murmurs on the other side of the -door; but one more sentence, almost whole, came to her ears. "Grierson -Mordaunt ... sort of chap ... carries these things through." Then -reappeared Tommy with the chocolates, and Joan went to her own desk; but -the stray bits of information were as flint and steel in her brain, and -together they struck out a spark of inspiration. She was as sure as if -she had heard all details of the transaction that the World's Shipping -Combine, of which the American millionaire, Grierson Mordaunt, stood at -the head, had arranged to take over the Clerio line of Italian boats -plying between Mediterranean ports. The fat man with the foreign accent -was no doubt the confidential agent of the Italian company, and being -acquainted with George Gallon and his methods, had given the secret away -for a consideration. Doubtless he was poor, perhaps in difficulties; -otherwise he would have kept the information and bought all the Clerio -shares he could lay his hands upon. - -Now Joan knew why Gallon had written yesterday to a man in Manchester, -asking him how many Clerios he had to sell, and what was the lowest -price he was prepared to take for them, adding that it would be useless, -in the present depressed state of the market, to name a high figure. -This man had been requested to wire his answer, and at any moment it -might arrive. - -When Joan had jumped so far in her conclusions, Gallon escorted his -visitor out, flinging back word that he would be in again in half an -hour. - -The girl's blood sang in her ears. It seemed to her that Fortune was -knocking at the door; but could she find the key to open it? She called -all her wits to the rescue, and in five minutes that key was grating in -the lock. - -In Gallon's private room was a small desk, which she used when her -services were wanted there. This gave her an excuse to go in, and in -passing she threw a glance at Tommy Mellis, which caused him, after the -lapse of a decent interval (he counted eighty seconds), to follow. - -"Once you said you would do anything for me," she began, with a lovely -look. "Did you mean it?" - -"Rather!" - -"Well, then, the next question is: Will your father do anything for -_you_?" - -"He'll do a good deal." - -"If you tell him you've a tip about some shares that are bound to rise, -will he give you the money to buy them?" - -"He'd lend it. That's his way. He'd be tickled to see me taking an -interest in business. But what has that got to do with----" - -"I want to buy some shares--lots of shares--all I can get hold of. -To-day they're going cheap. To-morrow, who can say? They are Clerios." - -"But, look here, even I know that Clerios are no good. It's a badly -managed line, and the shares are down to next to nothing." - -"All the better. Mr. Gallon mustn't know you are in this, as he wants -to get hold of all the shares himself. You must trust me enough to have -them put into my name, and when I've got your profit for you, we'll go -halves. Can you see your father inside half an hour?" - -"His place is just round the corner." - -"Well, then, if you _do_ care anything for me, ask him to see you -through a big deal. You shall really make on it, I promise you, -something worth having besides my--gratitude." - -"The governor's a queer fish. If I should let him in----" - -"You won't let him in. But we don't want your father or anybody else in -with us. All we want is the loan, and his name, which is a good one in -the City, I know. I trust you for that. You must show how clever you -are, if you're anxious to please me. I'll manage the rest. Now, like a -dear, good boy, run off and arrange things with your father." - -Again Tommy became knight-errant, and hardly was he out of the way when -a strange voice was heard in the adjoining office. "Mr. Gallon in? I'm -Mr. Mitchison, from Manchester." - -"Mr. Gallon is out at present, but----" a clerk had begun, when Joan -appeared and cut him short. "Mr. Gallon wishes me to see Mr. Mitchison, -in his absence. Will you kindly step in here, sir?" - -The gentleman from Manchester obeyed. Joan's quick eyes noted his -worried air and the genteel shabbiness of his clothing. "I am Mr. -Gallon's confidential secretary," she said. "I know about this business -of Clerios. You came instead of wiring? Mr. Gallon rather expected you -would." - -"I had to come to London in a day or two, anyhow, and it's always more -satisfactory to do business in person." - -"Exactly. Well, I'm sorry to tell you that Mr. Gallon has seen reason -to change his mind about buying your block of shares in the Clerio line, -as he has some big things on now, and finds his hands full; but Mr. -Mellis, a client of his--'the Salmon King,' you know--wants to invest -some money privately for his son. Mr. Gallon has advised them that, -though Clerios are not likely to rise much for some years, there is a -certain, if small, dividend; and if you can tell young Mr. Mellis where -they can get hold of other blocks of the same shares, it might then be -worth his while to take over yours. Those you hold are hardly enough -for him without others." - -"I know several men in Genoa, where I did business for some years, who -hold shares and would part with them for a decent price. I could work -the deal for Mr. Mellis, I'm certain." - -"Good. He's at his father's office now. I have Mr. Gallon's permission -to introduce you to him, but his only free time this morning is in the -next half-hour. I can go with you to Mr. Mellis senior's office, if -you're inclined to settle matters at once." - -"The Salmon King," who had earned his title by building up the largest -"canned goods" business of its kind in England, had offices on the -ground floor of an imposing building not far away, and Joan was lucky -enough to guide her companion to the door without the dreaded misfortune -of meeting George Gallon on the way. As they crossed the threshold, -Tommy Mellis issued from a room with a ground-glass door. Joan hurried -to him, asked if his father had been kind, was assured that all was well -so far, and hastened to explain the new development of affairs so -clearly that even Tommy's slow intelligence grasped her meaning without -difficulty. "When I've introduced you to Mr. Mitchison, offer him -twenty pounds a share (their nominal value is fifty), and if necessary -go up to twenty-five. Tell him he shall have a commission on all the -other shares he can get, if the whole thing can be fixed up by wire -to-morrow. Say there is a man coming to see you the day after about -some other investment, which your father prefers, but you've taken a -fancy to this, and want everything settled before the two older men come -together. As Gallon must do all his business in Clerios privately, and -doesn't want to ask for them in the House, that will give us time to -work." - -"By Jove! this will mean a lot of money," faltered Tommy. "Of course, -I'm delighted to do this for you, but if the governor----" - -Joan soothed his fears; and introduced Mitchison to young Mellis, who -took them both into a small, empty office. She hovered about during the -business conversation which ensued, putting in a word here and there, -and impressing the Manchester man with her shrewdness. In his opinion, -George Gallon had a treasure for a secretary, and he was grateful to her -for pushing on his affairs so well, especially as he did not believe he -could have got from Gallon the price which Mellis was willing to give. - -When Joan returned to the office in Copthall Court, her employer had not -yet come back. "Don't tell Mr. Gallon I've been out, will you?" she -appealed to the clerks, her slaves. As she spoke, the door opened, and -Gallon entered, just in time to hear the ingenuous request. The young -men flushed in consternation for her, but the girl did not change -colour. As a matter of fact, she had known that George was coming up, -and had probably seen her on the stairs. She had not spoken without -design. - -Having been delayed vexatiously, Gallon was not in a good mood, and his -black ones were unpleasant for underlings. A frowning look and a -gesture of the head called Joan to his private office. She followed -meekly; but when the scolding had reached the stage which she mentally -designated as "ripe," her meekness vanished like snow in sunshine. - -"How dare you speak to me like that!" she exclaimed, her eyes blazing. -"I'm not your servant, though I have served you well. I leave to-day." - -"This moment, if you choose," George flung back at her furiously, though -in reality he had not intended matters to touch this climax. Joan had -become valuable, but, as he said to himself in his sullen anger, she was -the "last person in the world whose impudence he would stand." - -When Joan had gathered up her few belongings, and remarked that she -would send for her typewriter, she added: "Mr. Mitchison, of Manchester, -called, and wanted me to tell you that he'd already parted with the -shares you wired about last night. I asked who had bought them, but he -was pledged to secrecy. I believe that is all I need say, except that -you will find all your correspondence in good order, to be taken over by -my successor; and as you have declared so often that clever -stenographers are starving for want of employment, you will not be long -in obtaining one." - -With this she was off, and, hailing the first cab she saw (though in her -circumstances a cab was an extravagance), drove to Woburn Place, where -she lived in a back bedroom on the top floor of a cheap boarding-house. - -She remained only long enough, however, to change into one of the pretty -dresses left from last spring's wardrobe. Looking as if her home should -be Park Lane instead of Bloomsbury, she went to the office of the -illustrated weekly in which she had been interested that morning. When -she inquired the address of _Titania's_ owner, she was told that all -business connected with the yacht would be done at the advertising -bureau of the paper. This was a blow, for the proposal that Joan had to -make was not, perhaps, of a kind suited to the taste of a mere -commonplace agent. She thought for a moment, and then said, with a -slight accent which she had learned through mimicking a girl at school: -"Well, I'm very sorry, but I'm afraid we can't do business, then. I'm an -American girl; my name is Mordaunt. Grierson Mordaunt is my uncle. I -guess you've heard of him. I want to buy a yacht, in a hurry--my people -generally are in a hurry--and I thought this one might do. But if I -can't see the owner myself, it's no use. _Good_ morning." - -[Illustration: "Looking as if her home should be Park Lane instead of -Bloomsbury, she went to the office."] - -Before she had got half-way to the door the dapper manager of the -advertising bureau stopped her. Possibly an exception might be made in -her favour; he would write to his client. - -"Can you send the letter by district messenger?" shrewdly asked the -newly-fledged Miss Mordaunt. - -The manager admitted that this could be done. To what hotel should he -transmit the answer? "I'm staying with friends, and I don't want them -to know about this till it's settled," said Joan. "I tell you what I'll -do: I'll wait here." - - - - -CHAPTER IV--The Steam Yacht _Titania_ - - -She did wait, for three-quarters of an hour; and at the end of that time -the manager received a reply to his letter. In consequence, he told -Joan that Lady John Bevan would see her at Kensington Park Mansions. - -As soon as the girl heard the name of Lady John Bevan, she knew why the -yacht was for sale, and was hopeful that the eccentric proposition she -meant to make might be received with favour. Lord John Bevan was in -prison, for the crime of forgery, committed after losing a fortune at -Monte Carlo. - -Joan took another cab to Kensington Park Mansions--a mean shelter for a -woman whose environment had once been brilliant. But Lady John, a tall -and peculiarly elegant woman, shone out like a jewel in an unworthy -setting. The two women looked at each other with admiration, and there -was eagerness in the elder's voice as she said: "You want to buy the -_Titania_, Miss Mordaunt?" - -"I'm not sure yet, till I've tried, to see how I like her," replied -Joan. "That's fair, isn't it? What I want, if I see the yacht, take -fancy to her, and we can come to terms, is to hire the _Titania_ for a -while. Then, at the end of that time, if I don't buy her myself, I'll -sell her for you to somebody else; that's a promise. What would you want -for your yacht for a couple of months, all in working order, and the -captain and crew's money included?" - -"Five hundred pounds," returned Lady John. "You can see her at Cowes." - -"Well, I don't mind telling you that's more than I expected. I'm G. B. -Mordaunt's niece, and some day I suppose I shall be one of the richest -women in America, but my money's tied up till I'm twenty-five. I've only -an allowance, and Uncle Grierson, who is my guardian, is hard as nails. -I'll tell you what I can do, though. I have some shares which are worth -a lot of money, but I don't want to deal with them myself, as their -value is a secret, and my uncle would be mad with me if he knew I was -using it. What I was going to say is this. The shares I speak of are -worth mighty little to those who aren't 'in the know,' and a lot to -those who are. If you'll call to-morrow morning at ten o'clock on a -stockbroker in the City, whose address I'll give you, and tell him -you've a block of Clerios to dispose of, he'll jump at the offer. All -you must do is to stand firm, and you can get eight hundred pounds out -of him. If he says they're no good, just let your eyes twinkle and tell -him G. B. Mordaunt's niece has been talking to you. That will settle -Mr. George Gallon! Keep your five hundred for the yacht, and give the -three hundred change to me. Of course, this is provided I like the -yacht. You give me an order to see her at Cowes. I'll start at once, -wire you what I think of her, and, if it's all right, I'll call here -first thing in the morning with the share certificates." - -Carried away by the girl's magnetism and dash, Lady John Bevan would -have said "Yes" to almost anything. She said "Yes" now with a -promptness which surprised herself when she thought of it afterwards, by -the cold light of reason. - -Joan arrived at Cowes before dark, and was delighted with the _Titania_ -and her crew. She wired her approval to Lady John, and telegraphed Tommy -Mellis, asking him to meet her at Waterloo for the eleven o'clock train -from Southampton, bringing the share certificates which had that morning -been Mitchison's. She was sure that Tommy would not fail, and he did -not. They had supper together in the grill-room of the Carlton, as Joan -was not in evening dress. She told him all she chose to tell, and no -more; and thus ended the busiest day of Joan Carthew's life. - -The transaction in which Lady John Bevan was to act as catspaw came off -next morning as the girl had expected, and she would have given -something handsome if she could have seen George Gallon's face when he -found himself obliged to pay, for the very shares he had expected to -obtain yesterday, four times what he had intended to offer Mitchison. -His profit would now be small, when the great _coup_ came off; still, he -could not afford to refuse the chance, and Joan knew it. Some day, she -meant that he should also know to whom he owed his defeat; but that day -was not yet. - -For the shares sold by Mitchison he had received two hundred pounds. A -like sum Joan agreed to place in Tommy's hands, as part profit of the -transaction; and when Lady John Bevan was paid for the two months' hire -of the _Titania_, the girl would have a hundred pounds over, to "play -with," as she expressed it to herself. The other shares which Mitchison -was pledged to obtain from Genoa would be available within the next few -days, and Joan had made up her mind what to do with them by and by. She -had had several inspirations since overhearing snatches of conversation -between her employer and his Italian visitor yesterday morning, and one -of these inspirations concerned Lady John Bevan. - -Lady John was pitied by the old friends in the old life from which -poverty and misfortune had removed her. People would have been glad to -be "nice" to her in any cheap way which did not cost too much money or -trouble, if she had let them. But the woman was a proud woman, who -still loved her husband in spite of his guilt, and she had not cared to -go out of her hired flat in Kensington to be patronised by the world -which had once flattered and fought for her invitations. Joan guessed -as much of this as she did not know, and when Lady John wished her, -rather wistfully, a "pleasant cruise," the girl said suddenly: "Come -along and be my chaperon! My aunt Caroline, Uncle Grierson Mordaunt's -sister, came to England with me; but she hates the sea, and flatly -refuses to do any yachting. I'm not sorry, because she's a prim old -dear, and what I want is to see a little life and fun. I've been kept -very close till now, and though I'm of age, I'm only just out, so I -don't know many people, and you would be sure to meet lots of nice -friends of yours, to whom you'd introduce me. It's so foggy and horrid -here now; I'm going to make straight for the Riviera with the _Titania_, -and it will do you good. Please come." - -Lady John could not resist the prospect, or that "Please," spoken -cooingly, with lovely, pleading eyes and a childlike touch on her arm. -Besides, she was fond of the _Titania_, and before she quite knew what -she was doing, she had promised to chaperon Grierson Mordaunt's niece. - -Considering the way in which she was handicapped by false pretences and -shortness of cash, Joan could not have done better for herself. She -told Lady John that she had had a disagreement with the friends with -whom she had been staying, and wished to be recommended to a hotel for -the few days before they could get off on the _Titania_. Of course, Lady -John invited her to the flat, and the girl accepted. She asked her new -chaperon's advice about dressmakers and milliners for the Riviera -outfit, which must be got together in a hurry. Lady John had paid all -her own bills after the crash, with money grudgingly supplied by -relations, and was still in the "good books" of the tradespeople she had -once lavishly patronised. Introduced by her as a niece of the -well-known American millionaire, Joan had unlimited credit to procure -unlimited pretty things. Everything had to be bought ready made; and at -the end of the week the steam-yacht _Titania_, with "Miss Jenny -Mordaunt" and Lady John Bevan on board, was bounding gaily over the -bright waters of the Bay. A few days later, the _Titania_ made one of a -colony of other yachts lying snugly in Nice harbour. - -Now, Joan's wisdom in the choice of a chaperon justified itself even -more pointedly than when it had been a question of a pilot among shoals -of tradespeople. Lady John believed in her young charge, whose -statements concerning her engaging self it had never occurred to the -elder woman to doubt. Having undertaken the duties of a chaperon, she -was conscientious in carrying them out, and lost no time in picking up -old friendships which might be valuable to Miss Mordaunt--just how -valuable, or in what way, Lady John little dreamed. - -Not only did she know a number of rich and titled English folk, who had -come out to spend the cold months at their villas, or in fashionable -hotels, at Nice, Monte Carlo, and Mentone, but she could claim -acquaintance with various foreign royalties and personages of high -degree. These latter especially were delighted to meet the beautiful -American girl, who was so rich and independent that she travelled about -the world on her own yacht. It was nobody's business that the _Titania_ -was but hired for two months, since it was Miss Mordaunt's pleasure to -pose as the owner. The name of the yacht had been changed, for politic -reasons, since gay Lord John had careered about the waterways of the -world in her; she had been newly decorated, and the colour of her paint -had undergone a change, therefore she could pass unrecognised by all -save experts. Joan and her chaperon kept "open house" on board. The -luncheon-table was always laid for twelve, in case any one strolled on -in the morning whom it would be agreeable to detain. On fine days--and -what days were not fine on these shores beloved of the sun?--tea was -always served on deck under the rose-and-white awning; and Russian -princes, Austrian barons and baronesses, French counts and countesses, -with a sprinkling of the English nobility, came early and stayed late to -drink the Orange Pekoe and eat the exquisite little cakes provided by -the confiding tradespeople of Nice. Joan paid for nothing, and got -everything. Was she not a great American heiress, and was not the yacht -alone a guarantee of her trustworthiness? - -Not even the owners of famous American yachts lying alongside suspected -the girl to be other than she seemed, though they were of the world in -which Grierson Mordaunt was prominent. He was not a man who made -intimate friends, and none of those who knew him best had any reason to -doubt that he had a pretty niece named Jenny. Concerning the great -Mordaunt himself Joan kept posted as to his whereabouts. She read the -papers and followed his movements in Florida; therefore she felt safe -and pursued her business more or less calmly. - -For it was business more than pleasure which had brought the girl on -this adventure, though she knew how to combine the two. Her hospitality, -her breakfasts, her tea and cakes, her lavish dinners, were not supplied -to her guests for nothing, though they were not aware that they were -paying save by the honour of their presence. When Joan had established -friendly relations with a person worth cultivating (she abjured all -others), her next step was to drop a careless word about a wonderful -"tip" she had got from Grierson Mordaunt. "It's all in the family," she -would say, laughing, "or he would never have given it away; and, of -course, I mustn't. He just said to me: 'Buy up a certain thing while you -can get it,' and I did. My goodness! I've got more than I know what to -do with, for, after all, I had more money than I wanted before. By and -by I shall be _too_ rich. Mercy! I'm afraid now of being married for -my money." - -Then the hearers, dazzled by this fairy story, wondered whether they -might possibly ask Miss Mordaunt if they could profit by the marvellous -"tip," and pick up a few crumbs from her overflowing table. If Joan had -hawked her wares, no doubt these people would have fought shy; but as -the object was difficult of attainment and must be manoeuvred for, -according to the way of the world they struggled for it with eagerness. -As soon as Joan could decently appear to understand, in her innocence, -what her dear friends were driving at, she was so "good-natured" that -she volunteered to sell them a few of her own shares. The only promise -she exacted in return was that nobody would boast of the favour granted. -The shares which she had bought at a low price--not yet paid--she sold -for three times their face value, sent half the profit to Tommy Mellis -as she got it in, and pocketed her own half. She was thus able to pay -the tradespeople who had trusted her, and to lay in coal for the trips -round the coast which the _Titania_ often took with a few distinguished -passengers. - -The girl could have sung for joy over the success of her adventure. In -the end she would cheat nobody; she would make a decent sum for herself, -and meanwhile she was drinking the intoxicating nectar of excitement. -She was so happy that when she had finished her business, sold all her -shares, and the two months for which the _Titania_ was hired were -drawing to an end she longed to stay on. She was her own mistress, and -could pay her way now--at least, for awhile, until she had another -stroke of luck, which her confidence in herself enabled her to count -upon as certain. She and Lady John were having a "good time," everybody -liked them, and she did not see why this good time should not go on -indefinitely. Besides, she had promised to sell the yacht for its -owner. The two ladies of the _Titania_ had invitations for a month -ahead, and one evening were dressed and waiting for the arrival of an -English bishop, a Roman prince, two American trust magnates, and a -French duchess and her daughter, when the name of Mr. Grierson Mordaunt -was announced. - -Joan's blood rushed to her head, but she stood up smiling. "Leave us -for a minute, dear," she breathed to Lady John, who slipped off to her -cabin unsuspectingly. The girl found herself facing a grizzled, -smooth-shaven man with a prominent chin, a large nose, and deep eyes of -iron grey which matched his hair and faded skin. - -"So you are the young woman who has been trading on a supposed -relationship to me?" remarked Grierson Mordaunt, looking her up and down -from head to foot. - -"We are related--through Adam," replied Joan, whose lips were dry. "As -for 'trading' on the relationship, I'm proud of it, and I don't see why -you should be ashamed of me. I've done nothing to disgrace you." - -"What is your game, that you should have selected my particular branch -of the Adam family?" - -"Because I have one of your family secrets. If you are going to disown -me, there's no reason why I shouldn't give it away." - -"What are you talking about?" - -"Clerios. You aren't ready for the secret of that deal to come out yet, -are you? I saw in the paper the other day that you had denied any -intention of taking the Clerio line into your combine. It was the same -paper that said you had just returned to New York from Florida." - -"You are an adventuress, my young friend." - -"Every seeker of fortune is an adventurer or an adventuress. The crime -is, failure. I'm not a criminal, because I am succeeding, and my success -has enabled me to meet my obligations. If you don't think that I was -justified in claiming relationship with you through so remote an -ancestor in common as Adam, you can make the rest of my stay here very -uncomfortable, I admit; and if you have no fellow-feeling for a -beginner, I suppose you will do it." - -"How long do you intend your stay to be?" inquired Mordaunt grimly, but -with a twinkle in his eye. - -"How long do you want it kept dark about Clerios?" - -"A fortnight." - -"Then I should like very much, if you don't mind, to stop here a -fortnight." - -The great man laughed. "You've the pluck of--the Evil One!" he -ejaculated. "I was in Paris, and read about one of my niece's smart -dinner-parties, so I came on--especially to see you. Now----" - -"Now you are here, won't you stop to one of the dinner-parties? Some -very nice people are coming this evening." - -"And play the part of fond uncle? No, I thank you. But, by Jove! I'm -hanged if I don't go away without unmasking you. You may bless your -pretty face and your smart tongue for that----" - -"And the family secret." - -"That's part of it, but not all. I give you a fortnight's grace. Mind, -not a day more; and respect the character you've stolen meanwhile, or -the promise doesn't stand. This day fortnight you clear out, and Miss -Jenny Mordaunt must never be heard of again." - -"It's a bargain," said Joan. "By some other name I shall be as great." - -"So long as it's not mine. Have you done well with Clerios?" - -"Pretty well, thank you. I was a little hampered for lack of capital. -I might get you a few shares here in Nice, if you like; not cheap, -exactly--still, a good deal lower than they will be a fortnight from -now." - -"Much obliged. You needn't trouble yourself. But I shall keep my eye -on you." - -"I shall consider it a compliment," said Joan, "and try to be worthy of -it." - -"Good-bye." - -"Good-bye." - -When he was gone, Joan sank into a chair and closed her eyes. It would -have been a comfort to faint, but the first guest arrived at that -moment, and she rose to them and to the occasion. The dinner was a -great success, and every one was grieved to hear that the _Titania_ was -due to steam away--for a destination unmentioned--in a fortnight. - - - - -CHAPTER V--The Landlady at Woburn Place - - -Joan had no difficulty in selling _Titania_ for Lady John Bevan, to a -Swiss millionaire, the proprietor of a popular chocolate, who was -disporting himself on the Riviera that winter. The yacht was to be -delivered to him at Corsica, so that when the charming Miss Mordaunt and -her chaperon steamed out of Nice Harbour, none of those who bade them -farewell needed to know that _Titania_ was to be disposed of. If they -found out afterwards, it did not matter much to Joan. After her the -Deluge. - -The girl had grown fond of Lady John Bevan, and could not bear to -exchange her friend's warm affection and gratitude for contempt. -Therefore she made up a pretty little fiction about an unexpected -summons to America, and parted from Lady John, with mutual regret, at -Ajaccio. Joan's one grief in this connexion was that Miss Mordaunt -would scarcely be able to keep her promise to write from New York; but -this grief was only one of the rain-drops in that "deluge" which had to -fall after the vanishing of the American heiress. - -If she had been prudent, Joan might have come out of this adventure with -a small fortune after sending Tommy Mellis his share of the spoil; but -she had been intoxicated with success, and had spent lavishly, as money -came from the sale of the shares. She made a good commission on the -"deal" with the yacht, which she sold for a somewhat larger sum than -Lady John had asked; but where a less generous young person might have -closed the episode with thousands, Joan Carthew had only hundreds. She -had also, however, many smart dresses, some jewellery, and the memory of -an exciting experience. Besides, the money she kept had been got -easily, in addition to the joy of her adventure. - -It had been in the girl's mind, perhaps, that she might, as Miss -Mordaunt, capture a fortune and a title; but in this regard, and this -only, the episode of the _Titania_ had proved a failure. She had had -plenty of proposals, to be sure; but the men who were rich were either -too old, too ugly, or too vulgar to suit the fastidious young woman who -called the world her oyster; and the titles laid at her feet were all -sadly in need of the gilding which a genuine American heiress might have -supplied for the sake of becoming a Russian princess or a French -_duchesse_. - -So Miss Mordaunt disappeared from the brilliant world where she had -glittered like a star; and at about the same time, Miss Joan Carthew -(who had nothing to conceal) appeared at her old quarters in Woburn -Place. She went back there for two reasons; indeed, Joan had bought her -experience of life too dearly to do anything without a reason. The -first was because she wished to lie hid for awhile, spending no -unnecessary money until the twilight of uncertainty should brighten into -the dawn of inspiration and show her the next step on the ladder which -she was determined to mount. The second reason was that the landlady--a -quite exceptional person for a landlady--had been kind, and Joan desired -to reward her. - -If the girl had not gone back to Woburn Place, her whole future might -have been different. But--she did go back, and arrived in the midst of -a crisis. Since Joan had vanished, some months ago, bad luck had come -into the house and finally opened the door for the bailiff. - -Joan found the landlady in tears; but to explain the fulness of the -girl's sympathy, the landlady must be described. - -In the first place, she _was_ a lady; and she was young and pretty, -though a widow. Her husband had been the Honourable Richard -Fitzpatrick, the scapegrace son of a penniless Irish viscount. -"Dishonourable Dick," as he was sometimes nicknamed behind his back, had -gone to California to make his fortune, had naturally failed, but had -succeeded in marrying an exceedingly pretty girl, an orphan, with ten -thousand pounds of her own. He had brought her to England, had spent -most of her money on the race-course, and would have spent the rest, had -it not occurred to him that it would be good sport to do a little -fighting in South Africa. He had volunteered, and soon after died of -enteric. - -Meanwhile, the Honourable Mrs. Fitzpatrick was at a boarding-house in -Woburn Place, where the landlord and landlady were so kind to her that -she gladly lent them several hundred pounds, not knowing yet that she -had only a few other hundreds left out of her little fortune. - -Suddenly the blow fell. Within three days Marian Fitzpatrick learned -that she was a widow, that her dead husband had employed the short -interval of their married life in getting rid of almost everything she -had; and that, her landlord and landlady being bankrupt, she could not -hope for the return of the three-hundred-pound loan she had made them. - -It was finally arranged, as the best thing to be done, that she should -take over the lease of the boarding-house and try to get back what she -had lost, by "running" the establishment herself. - -Mrs. Fitzpatrick had just shouldered this somewhat incongruous burden, -when Joan Carthew had been attracted to the house by the brightness of -the gilt lettering over the door, and the pretty, fresh curtains in the -windows. Joan was nineteen, and Marian Fitzpatrick twenty-three. The -two had been drawn to one another with the first meeting of their eyes. -When, after a few weeks' acquaintance, the girl had been told the young -widow's story, her interest and sympathy were keenly aroused, for Joan's -heart was not hard except to the rich, most of whom she conceived to be -less deserving, if more fortunate, than herself. Now, when she came -back fresh from her triumphant campaign on the _Cte d'Azur_, to hear -that things had gone from bad to worse, all the latent chivalry in her -really generous nature was aroused. - -Joan was tall as a young goddess brought up on the heights of Olympus, -instead of at a French boarding-school. Despite the hardships and -wretchedness of her childhood, she was strong in body and mind and -spirit, with the strength of perfect nerves and a splendid vitality. -Marian Fitzpatrick, broken by disappointment, and worn by months of -anxiety, was fragile and white as a lily which has been bent by savage -storms, and the sight of her small, pale face and big, sad, brown eyes -fired the girl with an almost fierce determination to assume the _rle_ -of protector. - -"I've got money," she reflected, in mental defiance of the Fate with -whom she had waged war since childish days, "and I can make more when -this is gone. I suppose I'm a fool, but I don't care a rap. I'm going -to help Marian Fitzpatrick, and perhaps make her fortune, as I mean to -make my own. But just for the present, mine can wait, and hers can't." - -Aloud, she asked Marian what sum would tide her over present -difficulties. Two hundred and fifty pounds, it appeared, were needed. -Joan promptly volunteered to lend, on one condition, but she was cut -short before she had time to name it. - -"Condition or no condition, you dear girl, I can't let you do it," -sobbed Marian. "I'm perfectly sure I could never pay. I'm in a -quicksand and bound to sink. Nobody can pull me out." - -"I can," said Joan; "and in doing it, I'll show you how to pay me. You -just listen to what I have to say, and don't interrupt. When I get an -inspiration, I tell you, it's worth hearing, and I've got one now. What -I want you to do is to give up trying to manage this house. You're too -young and pretty and soft-hearted for a landlady, and you haven't the -talent for it, though you have plenty in other ways, and one is, to be -charming. My inspiration will show you how best to utilise that -talent." - -Then Joan talked on, and at first Marian was shocked and horrified; but -in the end the force of the girl's extraordinary magnetism and -self-confidence subdued her. She ceased to protest. She even laughed, -and a stain of rose colour came back to her cheeks. It would be very -awful and alarming, and perhaps wicked, to do what Joan Carthew -proposed, but it would be tremendously exciting and interesting; and -there was enough youthful love of mischief left in her to enjoy an -adventure with a kind of fearful joy, especially when all the -responsibility was shouldered by another stronger than herself. - -The first thing to do towards the carrying out of the great plan was to -get some one to manage the boarding-house in Mrs. Fitzpatrick's place. -This was difficult, for competent and honest managers, male or female, -were not to be found at registry-offices, like cooks; but Joan was (or -thought she was) equal to this emergency as well as others. She sorted -out from the dismal rag-bag of her early Brighton experiences the memory -of a wonderful woman who had done something to make life tolerable for -her when she was the forlorn drudge of Mrs. Boyle's lodging-house at 12, -Seafoam Terrace. - -This wonderful woman had been one of two sisters who kept a rival -lodging-house in Seafoam Terrace. The Misses Witt owned the place, -consequently it was not improbable that they were still to be found -there, after these seven years; and as they had not always agreed -together, it seemed possible that the younger Miss Witt (the clever and -nice one, who had given occasional cakes and bulls'-eyes to Joan in -those bad old days) might be prevailed upon to accept an independent -position, with a salary, in London. - -Joan had always promised herself that, when she was rich and prosperous, -she would sweep into the house of her bondage like a young princess, and -bestow favours upon little Minnie Boyle, whom she had loved. But Lady -Thorndyke had not wished her adopted daughter even to remember the -sordid past; and after the death of her benefactress, the girl had not -until lately been in a position to undertake the _rle_ of fairy -princess. Even now, to be sure, she was not rich, but she swam on the -tide of success, and she had at least the air of dazzling prosperity. -She dressed herself in a way to make Mrs. Boyle grovel, and bought a -first-class ticket, one Friday afternoon, for Brighton. She took her -seat in an empty carriage, and hardly had she opened a magazine when a -man got in. It was George Gallon; and if he had wished to get out again -on recognising his travelling companion, there would not have been time -for him to do so, as at that moment the train began to move out of the -station. - -These two had not seen each other since the eventful morning when Joan -had resigned her position as Mr. Gallon's secretary. She was not sure -whether she were sorry or glad to see him now, but the situation had its -dramatic element. George spoke stiffly, and Joan responded with -malicious cordiality. Knowing nothing of her identity with Grierson -Mordaunt's brilliant niece, long pent-up curiosity forced the man to ask -questions as to where she had been and what she had been doing. - -"I have an interest in a London boarding-house, and am going to Brighton -to try and engage a manageress," Joan deigned to reply, with a twinkle -under her long eyelashes. "I forgot that you would of course have kept -on the old place at Brighton. I suppose you are going down for the -week-end?" - -George admitted grimly that this was the case, and as Joan would give -only tantalising glimpses of her doings in the last few months, and -seemed inclined to put impish questions about the office she had left, -he took refuge in a newspaper. Joan calmly read her magazine, and not -another word was exchanged until the train had actually come to a stop -in the Brighton station. "Oh! by the way," the girl exclaimed then, as -if on a sudden thought. "It was I who got hold of those Clerios I -believe you had an idea of buying in so very cheap. I knew you could -afford to pay well if you wanted them. One gets these little tips, you -know, in an office like yours. That's why I snapped at your two pounds -a week. Good-bye. I hope you'll enjoy the sea air at dear Brighton." - -Before George Gallon could find breath to answer, she was gone, and he -was left to anathematise the hand-luggage which must be given to a -porter. By the time it was disposed of, the impertinent young woman had -disappeared. Yet there is a difference between disappearing and -escaping. Joan's little impulsive stab had made Gallon more her enemy -than ever, and perhaps the day might come when she would have to regret -the small satisfaction of the moment. - -But she had no thought of future perils, and drove in the gayest of -moods to Seafoam Terrace, where she stopped her cab before the door of -No. 12. There, however, she met disappointment. Her first inquiry was -answered by the news that Mrs. Boyle had died of influenza in the -winter, and the house had passed into other hands. The servant could -tell her nothing of Minnie; but the new mistress called down from over -the baluster, where she had been listening to the conversation, that she -believed the little girl had been taken in by the two Misses Witt next -door. - -Death had stolen from Joan a gratification of which she had dreamed for -years. Mrs. Boyle could never now be forced to regret past unkindnesses -to the young princess who had emerged like a splendid butterfly from a -despised chrysalis; but Minnie was left, and Joan had been genuinely -fond of Minnie. She had therefore a double incentive in hurrying to the -house next door. - -The nice Miss Witt herself answered the ring, and Joan had a few words -with her alone. She would be delighted to accept a good position in -London; and it was true that Minnie Boyle was there. She had taken -compassion on the child, who was as penniless and friendless as Joan had -been when last in Seafoam Terrace; but the elder Miss Witt wished to -send the little girl to an orphanage, and the difference of opinion, and -Minnie's presence in the house, led to constant discussion. "The only -trouble is," said the kindly woman, "that if I leave, sister will send -the little creature away." - -"She won't, because I shall take Minnie off her hands," retorted Joan, -with the promptness of a sudden decision. "Do let me see the poor pet." - -Minnie was nine years old, so small that she did not look more than six, -and so pathetically pretty that Joan saw at once how she might be fitted -into the great plan. She could do even more for the child now than she -had expected to do; and because the little one was poor and alone in the -world, as she herself had been, Joan's heart grew more than ever warm to -her playmate of the past. She made friends with Minnie, who had -completely forgotten her, and so bewitched the child with her beauty, -her kindness, and her smart clothes that Minnie was enchanted with the -prospect of going away with such a grand young lady. - -"I used to know some nice fairy stories when I was very, very little," -said the child. "This is like one of them." - -"I told you those fairy stories," returned Joan. "Now I am going to -make them come true." - - - - -CHAPTER VI--The Tenants of Roseneath Park - - -About the first of May, when Cornwall was at its loveliest, everybody -within twenty miles of Toragel (a village famed for its beauty and -antiquity, as artists and tourists know) was delighted to hear that Lord -Trelinnen's place was let at last, and to most desirable tenants. Lord -Trelinnen was elderly, and too poor to live at Roseneath Park, therefore -Toragel had long ceased to be interested in him; but it was intensely -interested in the new people, despite the fact that their advent was the -second excitement which had stirred the fortunate village within the -last year or two. - -The first had been the home-coming of Sir Anthony Pendered, the richest -man in the county, who had volunteered for the Boer war, raised a -regiment, and, when peace was declared, had come back to Torr Court -covered with honours. He was only a knight, and had been given his -title because of a valuable new explosive which he had discovered and -made practicable. He had grown enormously rich through his various -inventions, and, after an adventurous life of some thirty-eight years, -had bought a handsome place near his native village, Toragel. At first -the county had looked at him askance, but the South African affair had -settled all aristocratic doubts in his favour. About a year before the -letting of Roseneath Park he had been enthusiastically received by all -classes, and was still a hero in everybody's eyes; nevertheless, the -first excitement had had time to die down, and the county people and the -"best society" of the village united with more or less hidden eagerness -to know what poor old Lord Trelinnen's tenants would be like. - -The Trelinnen pew in the pretty church of Toragel was next to that where -Sir Anthony Pendered was usually (and his maiden sister always) to be -seen on Sunday mornings. The first Sunday after the new people's -arrival, the church was full; but service began, and still the Trelinnen -pew was empty. After all, the tenants of Roseneath Park (whom nobody had -seen yet) had come only yesterday. Perhaps they would not appear till -next Sunday; but just as the congregation was sadly resigning itself to -this conclusion, there was a slight rustle at the door. The first hymn -was being sung, therefore eyes were able to turn without too much -levity; and it is wonderful how much and how far an eye can see by -turning almost imperceptibly, particularly if it be the eye of a woman. - -Two ladies and a little girl were shown to the Trelinnen pew. Both -ladies were young; the elder could not have been more than twenty-three, -the younger looked scarcely nineteen. Both were in half-mourning; both -were beautiful. They were, in fact, no other than the Honourable Mrs. -Fitzpatrick, and her sisters, Miss Mercy and Mary Milton, these latter -being known in other circles as Joan Carthew and little Minnie Boyle. - -The child, who appeared to be about six years old, was charmingly -dressed, and exemplarily good during the service. As for her elders, -they were almost aggravatingly devout, scarcely raising their eyes from -their prayer-books, and never glancing about at their neighbours, not -even at Sir Anthony Pendered, who looked at the two more than he had -ever been known to look at any other women. This was saying a good -deal, because he was by no means a misanthrope, although he was forty -and had contrived to remain a bachelor. It was rumoured that he wished -to marry, if he could find a wife to suit him, though meanwhile he was -content enough with the society of his sister, who was far from -encouraging any matrimonial aspirations. - -When Marian and Joan and Minnie were driven back to Roseneath Park (in -the perfect victoria and by the splendid horses which advertised the -solid bank balance they did not possess), the two "elder sisters" talked -over their impressions. - -Minnie played with a French doll, that somewhat resembled herself in her -new white frock, with her quantities of yellow hair. Marian, leaning -back on a cushioned sofa, waiting for the luncheon-gong to sound, was -prettier and more distinguished-looking than she had ever been; while -Joan, as Mercy Milton, would scarcely have been recognised by those who -knew her best. Marian's maiden name had really been Milton, and "Mercy" -had been selected to fit the picture for which Joan had chosen to sit. -Her beautiful, gold-brown hair was parted meekly in the middle and -brought down over the ears, finishing with a simple coil in the nape of -her white neck. She was dressed as plainly as a young nun, and had the -air of qualifying for a saint. - -"Well, dear, what did you think of him?" she inquired of Marian. - -"Of whom?" asked Mrs. Fitzpatrick, blushing. - -"Oh, if you are going to be innocent! Well, then, of the distinguished -being whose name and qualifications I showed you in the _Mayfair Budget_ -a few days after I got back to England and you. The _eligible parti_, -in fact, whose residence near Toragel is responsible for our choice of -abode." - -"Joan! _Don't_ put it like that!" - -"'Mercy,' if you please, not Joan. And I've found out exactly what I -wanted to know. Your reception of my brutal frankness has shown me that -you like him. So far, so good." - -"I may like him, but that won't help your plan. Oh, Jo--Mercy, I mean, -I do feel such a wretch! That man looks so honest and frank and nice, -and he could hardly take his eyes off you in church. If he knew what -frauds we are!" - -"You are not a fraud, and it is you with whom he is concerned, or it -will be, as I'll soon show him, if necessary. Your name _is_ -Fitzpatrick; you are a widow; we are sisters--in affection. You haven't -a fib to tell; you've only got to be charming." - -"But it's you he admires. I told you it would be so. If one of us is -to be Lady----" - -"'Sh!" said Joan; and the gong boomed musically for lunch. - -Had it not been for the existence of innocent little Minnie, the county -might not have accepted the lovely sisters as readily as it did. Joan -had thought of that, as she thought of most things; and Minnie, the -_protge_ of charity, was distinctly an asset. "A very good prop," as -Joan mentally called her, in theatrical slang which she had learned, -perhaps, from her long-vanished mother. - -The presence of Minnie in the feminine household gave a kind of -pathetic, domestic grace, which appealed even to tradespeople; and -tradespeople were extremely important in Joan's calculations. - -She had obtained credentials, upon starting on her new career, in a -characteristic way. Miss Jenny Mordaunt wrote to Lady John Bevan, asking -for a letter of introduction for a great friend of hers, the Honourable -Mrs. Fitzpatrick, to the solicitors who had charge of Lord Trelinnen's -affairs, as Mrs. Fitzpatrick wanted to take Roseneath Park. Jenny -Mordaunt's late chaperon gladly managed this. Mrs. Fitzpatrick called -upon her, and Lady John was charmed. She had known the "Dishonourable -Dick" slightly, years ago, had heard that he had married an heiress, and -marvelled now that he had been tolerated by so sweet a creature as this. -Lady John offered one or two letters of introduction to old friends in -Cornwall, and they were gratefully accepted. As the friends were not -intimate, and as Lady John detested the country, except when hunting or -shooting was in question, there was little danger that she would -inopportunely appear on the scene and recognise the saintly Mercy Milton -as the late Miss Mordaunt. - -Everybody called on the fair, lilylike young widow and her very modest, -retiring, unmarried sister--everybody, that is, with the exception of -Miss Pendered, who pleaded, when her brother urged, that she was too -much of an invalid to call on new people. Soon, however, he boldly went -by himself, excusing his sister with some tale of rheumatism which she -would have indignantly resented. Mrs. Fitzpatrick and Mercy Milton were -surrounded with other visitors when Sir Anthony Pendered was announced, -and he was just in time to hear a glowing account of the orphaned -sisters' "dear old California home," which Joan had learned by heart, -partly from Marian's reminiscences, partly from a book. - -[Illustration: "Mrs. Fitzpatrick and Mercy Milton were surrounded by -other visitors when Sir Anthony Pendered was announced."] - -"When father and mother died, little Minnie and I were the loneliest -creatures you can imagine," the gentle Mercy was saying. "Dear Marian -had just lost her husband, and so she wrote for us to join her. It is so -nice having a home in the country again. We both felt we couldn't be -happy without one, and we chose Cornwall because we thought it the -loveliest county in England. We are very glad we did, now, for everybody -has been _so_ kind." - -She might have added "and the trades-people _so_ trusting"; but on that -subject she was silent, though she intended that they should go on -trusting indefinitely. Indeed, thus far the scheme worked almost too -easily to be interesting. - -Sir Anthony Pendered outstayed the other visitors, and he stopped -unconscionably long for a first call; but that was the fault of his -hostesses, who made themselves so charming that the man lost count of -time--and perhaps lost his head a little, also. At first it seemed that -Marian's impression was right, and that, despite Mercy's retiring ways, -it was the young girl who attracted him. This made Marian secretly sad; -for when she had seen Sir Anthony looking up from his prayer-book in the -adjoining pew, she had said in her heart, with a sigh: "How good he -would be to a woman! How he would pet her and take care of her! To be -his wife would be very different from----" but she had guiltily broken -short that sentence in the midst. - -Persuaded and fired by Joan, she had entered into this adventure. She -had even laughed when Joan selected the neighbourhood of Toragel because -a Society paper announced the advent of a particularly desirable -bachelor. "You will be the prettiest and nicest woman in the county, of -course; therefore, he will fall in love with you and propose. He will -marry you; you will live happy ever after; and you will be able to pay -all the debts that we shall have run up in the process of securing him," -the girl had remarked. But now, when the "desirable bachelor" had -become a living entity, and she felt her heart yearning towards him, -Marian's conscience grew sore. Still, though she told herself that she -could not carry out the plan and try to win Sir Anthony Pendered, it was -a blow to see him prefer Joan. - -The symptoms of his admiration were equally displeasing to the girl. -She was deliberately effacing herself for this episode; while it lasted, -she was to be merely the "power behind the throne." Knowing that she -was more strikingly beautiful and brilliant than Marian Fitzpatrick, she -had studied how to reduce her fascinations, that Marian might outshine -her. Evidently she had not entirely succeeded; but during that first -call of Sir Anthony's, she quickly, surreptitiously changed a -diamond-ring from her right hand to the "engaged" finger of her left, -flourished the newly adorned member under his eyes, and spoke, with a -conscious simper, of "going back some day to California to live." Sir -Anthony did not misunderstand, and as he had not yet tumbled over the -brink of that precipice whence a man falls into love, he readjusted his -inclinations. After all, Mrs. Fitzpatrick was as pretty, he thought, and -certainly more sympathetic. He was glad that Minnie was her sister, and -not her child. Though he had always said he would not care to marry a -widow, this case was different from any that he had imagined, for Mrs. -Fitzpatrick had only been married a year or two when her husband died, -and she had soon awakened from her girlish fancy for the man--so Miss -Milton had guilelessly confided to him. - -Thanks to this, and much further "guilelessness" of the same kind on the -part of the meek maiden, Sir Anthony Pendered discovered, before the -sisters had been for many weeks tenants of Roseneath Park, that he was -deeply in love with Marian Fitzpatrick. Accordingly, he proposed one -June afternoon, amid the ruins of a storied castle overhanging the sea. -Joan had got up a picnic to this place expressly to give him the -opportunity which she felt triumphantly sure he was seeking, and she was -naturally annoyed with Marian when she discovered that the young widow -had asked for "time to think it over." - -"You little idiot! Why didn't you fall into his arms and say -'Yes--yes--_yes_'?" the girl demanded, in Marian's bedroom, when they -had come home towards evening. - -"Because I love him, and because I'm a fraud!" exclaimed Marian. "Oh! -I know what you must think of me. I haven't played straight with you, -either. You've done everything for me. I was to make this match; and -the rent of this place, and our horses and carriages, the payment of all -the tradespeople on whom we've been practically living, depend on my -catching the splendid 'fish' you've landed for me. You've lent me a lot -of money; and what you had left when we came here, you've been -spending----" - -"I've spread it like very thin butter on very thick bread, to make the -hundreds look like thousands. To carry off a big _coup_ like this, one -must have _some_ ready money," broke in Joan, with a queer little smile -at her own cleverness, and the thought of where it would land her if -Marian's "conscientious scruples" refused to be put to sleep. "We -_shall_ be in rather a scrape if you won't marry Sir Anthony--and you're -made for each other, too. But never mind, we shall get out of it -somehow. At worst, we can disappear." - -"And leave everything unpaid, and let him and everybody know we are -adventuresses!" exclaimed Marian, breaking into tears. - -"Don't cry, dear; don't worry; and don't decide anything," said Joan. -"I have an idea." - -She induced Marian to go to bed and nurse the violent headache which the -battle between heart and conscience had brought on. When it was certain -that Mrs. Fitzpatrick would not appear again that evening, she sent a -little note by hand to Sir Anthony, as fortunately Torr Count was the -next estate to Roseneath Park. "Do come over at once. It is very -important that I should see you," wrote the decorous Mercy. - -Sir Anthony Pendered was in the midst of dinner when the communication -arrived, and to his sister's disgust he begged her to excuse him, as it -was necessary to go out immediately on business. - -"That adventuress has sent for you!" Ellen Pendered fiercely exclaimed. -"She has got you completely in her net. I don't believe those three are -sisters. They don't look in the least alike, and it is all very well to -say an ignorant nurse spoiled the child's accent. I have heard her talk -more like a Cockney than a Californian. I tell you there is something -wrong, very wrong, about them all." - -"I advise you not to tell any one else, then," answered Anthony Pendered -furiously--"that is, unless you wish to break off for ever with me. -This afternoon I asked the 'adventuress,' as you dare to call her, to -marry me, and she refused. I had to plead before she would even promise -to think it over." With this he left his sister also to "think it -over," and decide that, between two evils, it might be wise to choose -the less. - -Marian's lover could not guess why Marian's younger sister had sent for -him, and his anxiety increased when he saw the gravity of the girl's -face. - -"Is Mar--is Mrs. Fitzpatrick ill?" he stammered. - -"A little, because she is unhappy; but you can make her well again--if -you choose," replied Joan inscrutably. - -"Of course I choose!" he almost indignantly protested. - -"Wait," said she, "and listen to what I have to say. Poor Marian is the -victim of her own goodness and sweet nature; and because she swore to me -that she would never tell the story of our past, she feels it would be -wrong to marry you. I cannot let her suffer for Minnie and me, so I am -now going to tell you, myself. But on this condition--if you do decide -that you want her for your wife in spite of all, you will never once -mention the subject to Marian. I will inform her that you know the -truth and that she is not to speak of it to you. Is that a bargain?" - -"Yes; but you needn't tell me the story unless you like. I'm sure _she_ -is not to blame for anything," replied the man, who was now thoroughly -in love with Marian, even to the point of wondering what he had ever -seen in Mercy. - -"Certainly it is not she; but as she thinks it is, it amounts to the -same thing. The facts are these: Dear, good Marian took pity on Minnie -and me in a London boarding-house, where we chanced to meet after her -widowhood. She had decided to come here to live, because she longed for -the country, but had not meant to take as grand a house as this, as she -had just found out that her dead husband had spent most of her fortune. -I implored her to bring Minnie and me to her new home, and give me a -good chance of getting into society by introducing us as her sisters. -She was rather a 'swell'--at least, she had married an 'Honourable,' and -we were nobodies. The poor darling finally consented to handicap -herself with us. I had a little money, too, which had--er--come to me -through a lucky investment, and I was so anxious to live at Roseneath -Park that I made Marian (who is most unbusiness-like) believe that -together we would have enough to take the place. I am supposed to be -practical, and so the management of everything has been left to me. I -have paid scarcely anything, except the servants' wages, so you see what -I have brought my poor Marian down to. The only atonement I can make is -to try and save her happiness by confessing my wrongdoing to you and -begging that you will not visit it on her." - -"I certainly will not do that," said Sir Anthony Pendered quickly. "As -you say, her one fault has been a kindness of heart almost amounting to -weakness, which, in my eyes, makes her more lovable than ever. As for -the loss of her money, that matters nothing to me. I have more than I -want, and----" - -"You'll pay everything, without betraying me to Marian? Oh! I don't -deserve it; but _do_ say you will do that, and I will relieve you of my -presence near your _fiance_ as soon as possible, as a reward. I know -that, after what I have told you, it would be an embarrassment to you to -see me with Marian, because as you are _very_ chivalrous, you could not -let people know I was not really her sister. I will disappear, and -every one can think I have been suddenly called out to my Californian -lover to be married." - -"Doesn't he exist?" questioned Sir Anthony, looking at her "engaged" -finger and thinking of the matrimonial schemes she had just confessed. - -"Not in California. But as I haven't been a success here, I may decide -to be true to the person who gave me this ring." (She had bought it -herself.) "Now that I've promised to go out of Marian's life for ever, -you'll guard her happiness by seeing that everything is straightened -here--financially?" - -"I shall be only too delighted, if you will tell me how to manage it -without my name appearing in the matter." - -"We--ll, if you'd trust the money to me, I'd use it honestly to pay our -debts, and give you all the receipts." - -"So it shall be." - -"You're a--a brick, Sir Anthony. The only difficulty left then is about -poor little Minnie, of whom Marian is really very fond. People might -gossip if Marian let her youngest sister go back to California with me; -for as we are supposed to be so nearly related, surely it would be -better to save a scandal and let--well, let sleeping sisters lie?" - -"If Marian is truly fond of Minnie, there will be plenty of room for the -child at Torr Court, and she will be welcome to stay there, as far as I -am concerned. I must say, Miss--er--Milton, that I think the child will -be better off under our guardianship than in the care of her real -sister." - -"You _are_ good, and I quite agree with you," responded Joan meekly, far -from resenting his look of stern reproach. "When you've trusted me with -that money to pay things, and I hand you the receipts, I'll hand you -also a written undertaking never to trouble you or--Lady Pendered. You -would like me to do that, wouldn't you?" - -"I--er--perhaps something of the kind might be advisable," murmured Sir -Anthony. - -When he had gone, the girl chuckled and clapped her hands. Then she ran -to a looking-glass. "You're not exactly stupid, my dear," she -apostrophised her saintly reflection. "You've provided splendidly for -Marian and you've saved her sensitive conscience. _Her_ slate is clean. -As for Minnie, she will be all right until the time comes, if it ever -does, that you can do better for her. As for yourself--well, you can -leave Marian a couple of hundred for pocket-money, and still get out of -this with something on which to start again. You've finished with Mercy -Milton, thank goodness! and--it _will_ be a relief to do your hair -another way." - -Two days later, Joan Carthew had turned her back upon Toragel, and Mrs. -Fitzpatrick's engagement to Sir Anthony Pendered was announced. - - - - -CHAPTER VII--The Woman Who Knew - - -Joan went straight from Cornwall to London and the Bloomsbury -boarding-house in which some of her curiously earned money was invested. -All was to begin over again now; but to the girl this idea brought -inspiration rather than discouragement, for the world was still her -oyster, if she could open it, and experience had already taught her some -dexterity in the use of the knife. At this house in Woburn Place she -had the right to live without paying, while she "looked round," and Miss -Witt, who owed her present position to Joan, was only too delighted to -welcome her benefactress. - -The place was doing well, and the corner of difficulty had been turned; -this was the news the manager-housekeeper had to give Joan. Every room -but one was full, and so far the boarders seemed to be "good pay," with -perhaps a single exception. - -"There's only the little top floor back that's empty," cheerfully went -on Miss Witt. "Of course, I will take that and give you mine." - -"You'll do nothing of the sort, my dear woman," said Joan. "I like -running up and down stairs. It does me good. Besides, I'd rather be at -the back. There's a tree, or something that once tried hard to be a -tree, to look at, as I know well, for the room used to be mine; so -there's no use talking any more about that matter--it's settled. You -stay where you are, and I will rise, like cream, to the top. Now tell -me about this doubtful person you are afraid won't pay. Is it a man or -a woman?" - -"A woman," replied Miss Witt, "and one of the strangest beings I ever -saw. It is a great comfort to me that you are here, miss, for you can -decide what is to be done about her. She hasn't paid her board for a -fortnight, but she keeps pleading that as soon as she is well, and can -go out, she will get remittances which have been delayed." - -"Oh, she is ill, then?" - -"So she says. But I'm not sure, miss, it isn't just an excuse to work -upon my compassion, for why should she have to go out for remittances? -She stops in her room, lying upon a sofa, and makes a deal of bother -with her meals being carried up so many pairs of stairs, though it's -hardly worth while her having them at all, she eats so little. Yet she -doesn't look a bit different from what she did when she was supposed to -be well and going about as much like anybody else as one of her sort -could _ever_ do." - -"What do you mean?" asked Joan, whose curiosity was fired. - -"Only that she is, and was, more a ghost than a human being, with her -great, hollow, black eyes, like burning coals, set deep under her thick -eyebrows and overhanging forehead; with her thin cheeks--why, miss, they -almost meet in the middle--her yellow-white skin, her tall, gliding -figure and stealthy way of walking, so that you never hear a sound till -she's at your back." - -"Queer kind of boarder," commented Joan. - -"That she is, miss; and when she applied for a room, I would have said -we were full up, but in those days we had several of our best rooms -empty, and, strange as she was, her clothes were so good, and the -luggage on the four-wheeler waiting outside was so promising, as you -might say, that it did seem a pity to send away two guineas a week -because Providence had given it a scarecrow face. So I showed her the -best back room on the top floor----" - -"Next to mine," cut in Joan. - -"If you will have it so, miss; and there she's been for the last six -weeks, not having paid a penny since the end of the first month." - -"What is the ghost's name and age?" the girl went on with her catechism. - -"Her name, if one was to take her word, which I'm far from being certain -of, is Mrs. Gone; and as for her age, miss, she might be almost anywhere -between fifty and a hundred." - -"What a clever old lady!" laughed the girl. "Well, we can't turn the -poor wretch away while she's ill, if she is ill, can we? I know too -well what it is to be alone in the world and down on your luck, to be -hard on anybody else, especially a woman. We must give Mrs. Gone the -benefit of the doubt for a little while. But your description has quite -interested me; I should like to see this ghost who doesn't walk." - -"The house is the same as yours, miss," said Miss Witt. "You have the -right to go into her room at any time, more particularly as she hasn't -paid for it." - -"Perhaps I'll carry up her dinner this evening, by way of an excuse," -returned Joan--"if you think she could bear the shock of seeing a -strange face." - -Upon this, Miss Witt, who adored the girl, protested that, in her -opinion, the sight of such a face could only be a pleasure to any person -and in any circumstances. Joan laughed at the compliment, but she did -not forget her intention. Mrs. Gone's meals were usually taken up a few -minutes before the gong summoned the guests to the dining-room, because -it was easier to spare a servant then than later, and it was just after -the dressing-bell had rung that the girl knocked at the "ghost's" door. - -Joan was surprised to find her heart quickening its beats as she waited -for a bidding to "Come in!" One would think that a sight of this old -woman who would not pay her board was an exciting event! She smiled at -herself, but the smile faded as she threw open the door in answer to a -faint murmur on the other side. Miss Witt's sketch of Mrs. Gone had not -been an exaggeration. - -There she lay on a sofa by the window, her face gleaming white in the -twilight; and it was a wonderful face. A shiver went creeping up and -down Joan's spine, as a flame leaped out from the shadowy hollows of two -sunken eyes to hers. - -"This woman has been some one in particular--some one extraordinary," -the girl thought quickly; and as politely as if she had addressed a -duchess, she explained her intrusion. "The servants were busy, and I -offered to carry up your dinner," Joan said. "I arrived only to-day; -and as Miss Witt looks upon me as a sort of proprietor, she told me how -ill you have been. I hope you are better." - -The old woman with the strange face looked steadily at the beautiful -girl in the pretty, simple, evening frock which was to grace the -boarding-house dinner. "Did Miss Witt tell you nothing else?" she -asked, in a voice which would have made the fortune of a tragic actress -in the death scene of some aged queen. - -"She told me that she was afraid you were in trouble," promptly answered -Joan, who had her own way of dressing the truth. By this time the girl -had entered the room, set the tray on a table near the sofa, and taking -a rose from her bodice, laid it on the pile of plates. This she did on -the impulse of the moment, not with a preconceived idea of effect, and -she was rewarded by a slight softening of the tense muscles round the -once handsome mouth. - -"I hope you like roses?" she asked. - -"Yes," Mrs. Gone answered brusquely. "Why do you give it to me?" - -"Because I'm sorry you are ill, and perhaps lonely," said Joan, able for -once to account for an action without a single mental reserve. "I have -had a good deal of worry in my life, and can sympathise with others, as -I told Miss Witt when she spoke of you. One reason why I came was to say -that you needn't distress yourself about your indebtedness to this -house. Try to get well, and pay at your convenience. You shall not be -pressed." - -Joan had not meant to say all this when she arranged to have a sight of -Mrs. Gone. She had merely wished to satisfy her curiosity; but now she -felt impelled to utter these words of encouragement--why, she did not -know, for she had not conceived any sudden fancy for the sinister old -woman. On the contrary, the white face, with its burning eyes and -secretive mouth, inspired her with something like fear. A woman with -such a face could not have many sweet, redeeming graces of character or -heart. There was, to supersensitive nerves, an atmosphere of evil as -well as mystery about her; but though Joan felt this, it gave a keener -edge to her interest. - -"Thank you," said Mrs. Gone. "You are kind, as well as pretty. I do -not like young people usually, but I might learn to like you. I hope -you will come again." - -The words were a dismissal and a compliment. Joan accepted them as both. -She promised to repeat her visit, and after lighting the shaded lamp on -the table, left Mrs. Gone to eat her dinner. - -The girl would have given much to lift the veil of mystery wrapped about -this woman's past and personality. She even boasted to herself that she -would find some way, sooner or later, at least to peep under its edge; -but day after day passed, and though she went often to Mrs. Gone's room, -and was always thanked for her kind attentions, she seemed no nearer to -attaining her object than at first. Beyond occupying a room which she -did not pay for, Mrs. Gone was not an expensive guest. She ate almost -nothing; and when Joan had been in Woburn Place for a week, the white -face with its burning eyes had become so drawn with suffering that in -real compassion the girl offered to call a doctor at her own expense. -But Mrs. Gone would not consent. "I hate doctors," she said. "No one -could tell me more about myself than I know." - -The girl's own affairs were absorbing enough, for she saw no new opening -yet for her ambition; still, she found time to think a great deal about -Mrs. Gone. "Am I a soft-hearted idiot, allowing myself to be imposed -upon by a professional 'sponge'?" she wondered; "or is there something -in my odd feeling that I shall be rewarded for all I do for this -extraordinary woman?" - -Such questions were passing through her mind one night when she had gone -to bed late, after being out at the theatre. She had been in Woburn -Place eight days, and was growing impatient, for none of the boarders -were of the kind to be used as "stepping-stones," and none of the -Society and financial papers, which she studied, afforded any hopeful -suggestion for another phase of her career. To be sure, the young man -with whom she had consented to go to the theatre was employed as a -reporter for a great London daily, and she had been "nice" to him, with -the vague idea that she might somehow be able to profit by his -infatuation; but at present she did not see her way, and it appeared -that she was wasting sweetness on the desert air. - -"I suppose," Joan said to herself, turning over her hot pillow, "that if -I were an ordinary girl, I might be contented to go on as I am. I can -live here for nothing, and get enough interest on the money I've put -into this concern to buy clothes and pay my way about, with strict -economy. All the men in the house are in love with me; and if they were -more interesting, that might be amusing. But I'm not born to be -contented with small people or things. I don't want clothes. I want -creations. I don't want the admiration of young men from the City. I -want to be appreciated by princes. I believe I must have been a -princess in another state of existence, for I always feel that the best -of everything is hardly good enough for me." - -As she thought this, half laughing, there came a sound from the next -room--that room which might have been the grave of the strange woman who -occupied it, so dead was the silence which reigned there day and night. -Never before had Joan heard the least noise on the other side of the -dividing wall, but now she was startled by a crash as of breaking glass, -followed by the dull, soft thud which could only have been made by the -fall of a human body. Joan sat up, her heart thumping, and it gave a -frightened bound as a groan came brokenly to her ears. - -She waited no longer, but slipped her bare feet into a pair of satin -_mules_, flung on her dressing-gown, and in another moment was out of -her room and in the dark passage, fumbling for the handle of the other -door. - -Mrs. Gone kept her door unlocked in the daytime, perhaps to save herself -the trouble of rising to admit servants, or her only visitor, Joan -Carthew; but the girl feared that it might not be so at night, and that -before she could penetrate the mystery of the fall and the groan, the -whole house would have to be disturbed. She was relieved, therefore, to -find that the door yielded to her touch. Pushing it open, she listened -for an instant, but only the dead silence throbbed in her ears. - -As she got into her dressing-gown, with characteristic presence of mind -Joan had caught up a box of matches and put it into her pocket. The -room was as dark as the passage outside, and the girl struck a match -before crossing the threshold. The little flame leaped and brightened. -Something on the floor glimmered white in the darkness, and Joan did not -need to bend down to know what it was. - -The gas was close to the door, and she lighted it with the dying match, -which burnt her fingers. Then she saw clearly what had happened. In -tottering uncertainly across the floor, Mrs. Gone had knocked over a -small table holding a china candlestick, a water-bottle, and a goblet. -She had fallen, and after uttering that one groan which had crept to -Joan's ears, she had lost consciousness. - -The girl's quick eyes sought for an explanation of the catastrophe. The -long, white figure lay at some distance from the bed, and near the -mantel. On the mantel stood a curiously shaped, dark green bottle, -which Joan had once been requested to give to Mrs. Gone. She had seen a -few drops of some colourless liquid poured into a wineglass of water; -and when it had been swallowed, the ghastly pallor of the face had -changed to a more natural tint. Mrs. Gone had then said that she took -the medicine when very ill. If she used it oftener, its effect would -disappear, and she would have nothing left to turn to at the worst. - -"It was that bottle she was trying to find in the dark," Joan guessed. -"She must have been too ill to try and light the gas. Now, how much was -it that I saw her pour out? It might have been ten drops--no more." - -So thinking, the girl filled a glass on the wash-handstand a third full -of water, measured ten drops of the medicine with a steady hand, and -raising Mrs. Gone's head, put the tumbler to her lips. The strong teeth -seemed clenched, but some of the liquid must have passed their barrier, -for the dark eyes opened wide and looked up into Joan's face. - -"Too late----" the woman panted, with a gurgling in the throat which -choked her words. "Dying--now. Wish that--you--you have been -kind--only one in the world. My secret--you might have--Lord Northmuir -would have given----" - -The voice trailed away into silence. The gurgle died into a rattle; the -woman's breast heaved and was still. Her eyes had not closed, but -though they stared into Joan's, the spark of life behind their windows -had gone out. Mrs. Gone was dead, and had taken her secret with her -into the unknown. - -Joan had never seen death before, but there was no mistaking it. Her -first impulse was to run downstairs, call Miss Witt and a young doctor -who had his office and bedroom on the dining-room floor. Nevertheless, -when she had laid the heavy head gently down and sprung to her feet, she -remained standing. - -For some minutes she stood motionless, almost rigid, her lips pressed -together, her eyes hard and bright. Then she struck one hand lightly -upon the other, exclaiming half aloud: "I'll do it!" - -It seemed certain by this time that no one had heard the crash of glass -and the fall which had alarmed her, for the house was still. -Nevertheless, Joan tiptoed to the door and bolted it. When she had done -this, she opened all the drawers of the dressing-table and searched them -carefully for papers. Discovering none, she left everything exactly as -she had found it. Next she examined the pockets of the three or four -dresses hanging in the wardrobe, but they were limp and empty. There -were still left the leather portmanteau and handbag which had appealed -to Miss Witt's respectful admiration. Both were locked, but Joan's -instinct led her to look under the pillows on the bed, and there lay a -key-ring. She was able to open portmanteau and bag, but not a paper of -any kind was to be seen, and the girl recalled a remark of Miss Witt's, -that never since Mrs. Gone had become a boarder in Woburn Place had she -been known to receive or send a letter. - -Having assured herself that no information was to be gained among the -dead woman's possessions, Joan unlocked the door and went softly -downstairs to rouse Miss Witt. She justified what she had done by reason -of Mrs. Gone's last words, for she believed that the dead woman would -have made her a present of the secret if she could. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII--Lord Northmuir's Young Relative - - -Awakened and informed of what had happened, the housekeeper called the -doctor, who looked at the body and certified that death had resulted -from failure of the heart, which must have been long diseased. Joan paid -for a good oak coffin and a decent funeral. She bought a grave at -Kensal Green and ordered a neat stone to be erected. If she had -previously earned Mrs. Gone's gratitude, she felt that she had now -merited any reward which might accrue in future, and the curious, -erasible tablet that did duty as her conscience was wiped clear. - -The morning after Mrs. Gone's funeral, the girl put on her favourite -frock of grey cloth, with a hat to match, which had been bought at one -of the most fashionable shops in Monte Carlo. This costume, with grey -gloves, grey shoes, and a grey chiffon parasol, ivory-handled, gave Joan -an air of quiet smartness, a combination particularly appropriate for -the adventure which she had planned. She hired a decorous brougham and -said to the coachman: "Drive to Northmuir House, Belgrave Square." - -It was but ten o'clock, and, as Joan had gleaned some information -concerning the habits of the occupant, she was confident that he would -be at home. Mrs. Gone had not been dead two hours when the girl began -searching through her own scrapbook, compiled of cuttings taken from -Society papers. Whenever she came across the description of any -important member of the aristocracy--his or her home life, manners, -fancies, and ways--she cut it out and pasted it into this book, in case -it should become valuable for reference. The moment that the dying -woman uttered the name of Northmuir, Joan's memory jumped to a paragraph -(one of the first that had gone into the scrapbook), and as soon as she -could shut herself up in the little back room, she had consulted her -authority. - -The Earl of Northmuir was, according to the paper from which the cutting -had been clipped, still the handsomest man in England, though now long -past middle age. Once he had been among the most popular also, but for -some years he had lived more or less in retirement, owing to illness and -family bereavements, seldom leaving his fine old town house in Belgrave -Square. - -"He'll be in London, and he won't be the sort of man to go out before -noon," Joan said to herself. - -Her heart was beating more quickly than usual, but her face was calm and -untroubled, as she stood on the great porch at Northmuir House, asking a -footman in sober livery if Lord Northmuir were at home. - -The girl in the grey dress and grey hat, with large, soft ostrich -feathers, might have been a young princess. Whatever she was, she -merited civility, and the servant, who could not wholly conceal -surprise, politely invited her to enter, while he inquired if his -Lordship could receive a visitor. "What name shall I say?" he asked. - -"Give him this, please," said Joan, handing the footman an envelope, -addressed to "The Earl of Northmuir." Inside this envelope was a sheet -of paper, blank, save for the words, "A messenger from Mrs. Gone, who is -dead"; and the death notice was enclosed. - -With this envelope the man went away, leaving her to wait in a large and -splendid drawing-room, where stiffness of arrangement betrayed the -absence of a woman's taste. - -Joan looked about appreciatively, yet critically. Then, when she had -gained an impressionist picture of the room, she glanced at the jewelled -watch on her wrist, a present from Lady John Bevan after the sale of the -_Titania_. - -What if Lord Northmuir had never known the dead woman under the name of -Gone? What if--there were many things which might go wrong, and Joan had -put her whole stake on a single chance. If she had been mistaken--but -as her mind played among surmises, the footman returned. - -"His Lordship will see you in his study, if you will kindly come this -way," the servant announced. - -Joan rose with quiet dignity and followed the man along a pillared hall -to a closed door. "The lady, my lord," murmured the footman, in opening -it. Joan was left alone with a singularly handsome old man, who sat in -a huge cushioned chair by the fireplace. It was summer still, but a -fire of ship-logs sparkled with changing rainbow lights on the stone -hearth. In a thin hand, Lord Northmuir held an exquisitely bound book. -He must have been more than sixty, but his features were of the -cameo--fine, classic cut, of which the beauty, like that of old marble, -never dies, and it was easy to see why he had once borne a reputation as -the handsomest man in England. It was easy to see also, by his eyes as -they catalogued each item of Joan's beauty, that he had been a gallant -man, not blind to the charms of women. Nevertheless, his voice was cold -as he spoke to the unexpected visitor. - -"I haven't the pleasure of knowing your name, or why you have honoured -me by calling," he said. "Forgive my not rising. I am rather an -invalid. Pray sit down. There is something I can do for you?" - -"Several things, Lord Northmuir," returned the girl, taking the chair -his gesture had indicated. - -"You will tell me what they are?" - -"I am anxious to tell you. In the first place, I wish to be a relation -of yours, and not a poor relation. I wish to have a thousand pounds a -year, either permanently or until my marriage, should I become the wife -of a rich man through your introduction." - -Lord Northmuir stared at the girl, and if there were not genuine -astonishment in his eyes, he was a clever actor. "You are a handsome -young woman," he said slowly, when she had finished, "but I begin to be -afraid that your mind is unfortunately--er--affected." - -"There is a weight upon it," Joan replied.--"the weight of your secret. -It's so heavy that unless you are very kind, I shall be tempted to throw -the burden off by laying it upon others." - -Now the blood hummed in her ears. If she had built a house of cards, -this was the moment when it would topple, and bury her ambition in its -ignominious downfall. But Lord Northmuir's slow speech had quickened her -hope, for she said to herself that it was not spontaneous; and gazing -keenly into his face, she saw the blood stain his forehead. She had -staked on the right chance, yet the risk was not past. Her game was the -game of bluff, but its success depended upon the man with whom she had -to deal. - -"I do not understand what you are talking about," he said. - -"I dare say I haven't made my meaning clear," answered Joan, half -rising. "Perhaps I'd better explain to my solicitor, and get him to -write a letter----" - -"You are nothing more nor less than a common blackmailer," Lord -Northmuir exclaimed, bringing down his white hand on the arm of his -chair. - -"I may be nothing less, but I am a good deal more than a common one," -retorted Joan, surer of her ground. "I will prove that, if you force me -to do it." - -"Who are you?" he broke out abruptly. - -"I am a Woman Who Knows," she replied. "There was another Woman Who -Knew. She called herself Gone. She is dead, and I have come. I have -come to stay." - -"Don't you understand that I can hand you over to the police?" demanded -Lord Northmuir, with difficulty controlling his voice so that it could -not be heard by possible listeners outside the door. - -"Yes; and I understand that I can hand your secret over to the police. -They would know how to use it." - -He flushed again, and Joan saw that her daring shot had told. For the -instant he had no answer ready, and she seized the opportunity to speak -once more. "You can do better for yourself than hand me over to the -police. There need be no trouble, if you will realise that I am not a -common person, and not to be treated as such." - -"Again I ask: Who are you?" he cried. - -Joan risked another shot in the dark. "Can't you make a guess?" she -asked, with a malicious suggestion of hidden meaning in her tone. - -An expression of horror and surprise passed over Lord Northmuir's -handsome face, devastating it as a marching tornado devastates a -landscape. It was evident that he had "made a guess," and been -thunderstruck by its answer. Joan's curiosity was so strongly roused -that it touched physical pain. Almost, she would have been ready to -give one of her pretty fingers to know the secret. - -"Do you still wish to ask questions?" she inquired. - -"Heaven help me, no! What is it that you want?" - -"I have told you already. If I insisted on all I have a right to claim, -you would not be where you are." - -She watched him. He grew deathly and bowed his white head. Joan felt -sorry for the man now that he was at her mercy; but her imagination -played with the secret, as a child plays with a prism in the sunshine. -Its flashing colours allured her. "Oh! if I only _knew_ something," she -thought, "something which would hold in law, and could go through the -courts, where might I not stand? I might reach one of the highest -places a woman can fill. But it's no use; I must take what I can get, -and be thankful; and, anyway, I can't help pitying him a little, though -I'm sure he doesn't deserve it. He's old and tired, and I won't make him -suffer more than is necessary for the game." - -Joan again named her terms, this time with much ornamental detail. She -was to be a newly discovered orphan cousin. Her name was to be, as it -had been in Cornwall, Mercy Milton. She was to be invited to visit, for -an indefinite length of time, at Northmuir House. Her noble relative -was to exert himself to the extent of giving entertainments to introduce -her to his most influential and highly placed friends. He was also to -make her an allowance of a thousand pounds a year. - -"Don't think, if you gamble away as--as the other did, that I will go -beyond this bargain, for I will not!" cried Lord Northmuir, with a testy -desire to assert himself and show that he was not wholly to be cowed. - -"I don't gamble, except with Fate," said Joan. - -This exclamation of his explained one or two things which had been dark. -She guessed now why Mrs. Gone, evidently used to luxuries, had been -reduced to living on the charity of a boarding-house keeper, and why it -had been necessary to wait until she should be well enough to go out -before she could obtain "remittances." - -Having concluded her arrangement with Lord Northmuir, and settled to -become his relative and guest, Joan went back in her brougham to Woburn -Place. She told Miss Witt that she had been called away, packed her -things, left such as she would not want in Belgrave Square in boxes at -the boarding-house, delighted the housekeeper with many gifts, and the -following morning drove off with a pile of luggage on a cab. Turning -the corner of Woburn Place into the next street, she also turned a -corner in her career, and for the third time ceased to be Joan Carthew. - -She had chosen to take up her lately laid down part of Mercy Milton for -two reasons. One was, that in this character as she had played it in -Cornwall, with meekly parted hair, soft, downcast eyes, simple manners -and simple frocks, she was not likely to be recognised by any one who -had known the dashing and magnificent Miss Jenny Mordaunt; while if she -should come across Cornish acquaintances, there was nothing in her new -position which need invalidate the story of Lady Pendered's gentle -sister. - -If Lord Northmuir had looked forward with dread to the intrusion of the -adventuress whom he was forced to receive, he soon found that, beyond -the galling knowledge of his bondage, he had nothing disagreeable to -fear. The young cousin did not attempt to interfere with his habits -after he had provided her with acquaintances, who increased after the -manner of a "snowball" stamp competition. The two usually lunched and -dined together, and--at first--that was all. But Miss Mercy Milton made -herself charming at table, never referred by word or look to the loathed -secret, and was so tactful that, to his extreme surprise, almost horror, -the man found himself looking forward to the hours of meeting. Joan was -not slow to see this; indeed, she had been working up to it. When the -right time came, she volunteered to help Lord Northmuir with his letters -(he had no secretary) and to read aloud. At the end of six months she -had become indispensable, and he would have wondered how existence had -been possible without his treasure had he dwelt upon the dangerous -subject at all. If, however, the blackmailer's instalment in the -household had turned out an agreeable disappointment to the blackmailed, -it was a disappointment of another kind to the author of the plot. Joan -Carthew did not find life in Belgrave Square half as amusing as she had -pictured it, and though she was surrounded by luxury which might be hers -as long as Lord Northmuir lived, each day she grew more restless and -discontented. - -She had found society on the Riviera delightful, but the butterfly crowd -which fluttered between Nice and Monte Carlo had little resemblance to -that with which she came in contact as Lord Northmuir's cousin. Jenny -Mordaunt could do much as she pleased--at worst she was put down as a -"mad American, my dear"; but Mercy Milton had the family dignity to live -up to. Lord Northmuir's adopted relative could not afford to be "cut" by -the primmest dowager; and being an ideal, conventional English girl in -the best society did not suit Joan's roaming fancies. - -It was supposed that she would be Lord Northmuir's heiress; consequently -mothers of eligible young men were charming to her, which would have -been convenient if Joan had happened to want one of their sons. But not -one of the men who sent her flowers and begged for "extras" at dances -would she have married if he had been the last existing specimen of his -sex. This was annoying, for in planning her campaign, Joan had resolved -to marry well and settle satisfactorily for life. Now, however, she -found that it was simpler to decide upon a mercenary marriage in the -abstract than when it became a personal question. - -At the close of a year with Lord Northmuir she had saved seven hundred -pounds, and at last, after a sleepless night, she made up her mind to -take a step which was, in a way, a confession of failure. - -She went to Lord Northmuir's study as usual in the morning, but this -time it was not to act as reader or amanuensis. - -"It's a year to-day since I came," she said abruptly, with a purposeful -look on her face which the man felt was ominous. - -"Yes," he answered. "A strange year, but not an unhappy one. What I -regarded as a curse has turned out a blessing. I should miss the -albatross now if it were to be taken off my neck." - -"I'm sorry for that," said Joan, "for the albatross has revived and -intends to fly away." - -"What! You will marry?" - -"No. I'm tired of being conventional. I've decided to relieve you of my -presence here; and you can forget me, except when, each quarter, you -sign a cheque for two hundred and fifty pounds." - -Lord Northmuir's handsome face grew almost as white as when she had -first announced her claim upon him. "I don't want to forget you. I -can't forget you!" he stammered. "If I could, I would publish the whole -truth; but that is impossible, for the honour of the name. You have -made me fond of you--made me depend upon you. Why did you do that, if -you meant to leave me alone?" - -"I didn't mean it at first," replied Joan frankly. "I thought I should -be 'in clover' here, and so I have been; but too much clover upsets the -digestion. I must go, Lord Northmuir. I can't stand it any longer. -I'm pining for adventures." - -"Have you fallen in love?" - -"No. I wish I had. I've been trying in vain." - -"A year ago I would not have believed it possible that I should make you -such an offer, but you have wrought a miracle. You came to blackmail, -you remained to bless. Stay with me, my girl, till I die, and not only -shall you be remembered in my will, but I will increase your allowance -from one thousand to two thousand a year. I can afford to do this, -since you have become the one luxury I can't live without." - -"I was just beginning to say that, if you would let me go without a -fuss, I would take five hundred instead of a thousand a year." - -"But now I have shown you my heart, you see that offer does not appeal -to me." - -Joan broke out laughing; this upsetting of the whole situation was so -humorous. A sudden reckless impulse seized her. She could not resist -it. - -"Lord Northmuir, you will change your mind when I have told you -something," she said. "I have played a trick on you. I have no -connection with your family, and know no more about your secret than I -know what will be in to-morrow's papers. Mrs. Gone, in dying, mentioned -a secret and your name. I put two and two together, and they matched so -well that I've lived on you for a year, bought lots of dresses, made -crowds of friends, had heaps of proposals, and kept seven hundred pounds -in hand. Now I think you will be willing to let me go; and you can lie -easy and live happy for ever after." - -Having launched the thunderbolt, she would have left the room, but Lord -Northmuir, old and invalided as he was, sprang from his chair like an -ardent youth and caught her arm. - -"By Jove! you shan't leave me like that!" he cried. "You have made your -first mistake, my dear. Instead of being in your power, you have put -yourself in mine. I need fear you no longer. But as a trickster I love -you no less than I did as a blackmailer. Indeed, I love you the more -for your diabolical cleverness, you beautiful wretch! Stay with me, not -as the little adopted cousin, living on charity, but as my wife, and -mistress of this house. Or, if you will not, I shall denounce you to -the police." - -For once, Joan was dumfounded. The tables had been turned upon her with -a vengeance. She gasped, and could not answer. - -"You see, it is my turn to dictate terms now," said Lord Northmuir. - -Joan's breath had come back. "You are right," she returned, in a meek -voice. "I have given you the reins. But--well, it would be something -to be Countess of Northmuir." - -"Don't hope to be a widowed Countess," chuckled the old man. "I am only -sixty-nine, and for the last ten years I have taken good care of -myself." - -"I count on nothing after this," said Joan. - -"You consent, then?" - -"How can I do otherwise?" - -Lord Northmuir laughed out in his triumph over her. "The notice of the -engagement will go to the _Morning Post_ immediately," he said. -"To-morrow, some of our friends will be surprised." - -But it was he who was surprised; for, when to-morrow came, Joan had run -away. - - - - -CHAPTER IX--A Journalistic Mission - - -It is like stating that the world is round to say that London is the -best of hiding-places. It is the best, because there are many Londons, -and one London knows practically nothing about any of the other Londons. -When, therefore, Mercy Milton disappeared from Northmuir House, Belgrave -Square, Joan Carthew promptly appeared at her old camping-ground, the -boarding-house in Woburn Place. - -Joan was no longer penniless, and as far as Lord Northmuir was -concerned, she was easy in her mind. A man of his stamp was unlikely to -risk the much-prized "honour of his name" to seek her with detectives; -while, unassisted, he would have to shrug his weary old shoulders and -resign himself to loss and loneliness. - -But ambition kindled restlessness. She grudged wasting a moment when -her fortune had to be made, her permanent place in life fixed. Besides, -she was dissatisfied with her adventure in the house of Lord Northmuir. -She had not come off badly, yet it galled her to remember that in -self-defence she had been driven to confess her scheme to its victim, -and that--this expedient not proving efficacious--she had eventually -been forced to run away like the coward she was not. On the whole, she -had to admit that if Lord Northmuir had not in the end got the better of -her, he had come near to doing so. The sharp taste of failure was in -her mouth, and the only way to be rid of it was to get the better of -somebody else--somebody disagreeable, so that the sweets of success -might be unmixed with bitterness. - -Existence as Lord Northmuir's adopted relative had been deadly dull; -existence as his wife would have been worse; and the remembrance of -boredom was too vivid still for Joan to regret what she had sacrificed. -Nevertheless, she realised that it had been a sacrifice which she would -not a little while ago have believed herself fool enough, or wise -enough, to be capable of making. She wanted her reward, and that reward -must mean new excitements, difficulties, and dangers. - -"I should like to do something big on a great London paper," she said to -herself on the first night of her return to Woburn Place. "What fun to -undertake a thrilling journalistic mission, and succeed better than any -man! I wonder whether Mr. Mainbridge, who was a reporter on _The -Planet_, is here still. He wasn't at dinner, but then he used often to -be away. I must ask in the morning." - -Joan went to sleep with this resolve in her mind, and before breakfast -she had carried it out. Mr. Mainbridge was still one of Miss Witt's -boarders, and had often inquired after Miss Carthew. He had come in -late last night, was now asleep, but would be down to luncheon, and -there was no doubt that he would be delighted to see the object of his -solicitude. - -All turned out as Miss Witt prophesied, and Joan was even nicer to the -reporter than she had been before. He invited her to dine that evening -at an Italian restaurant, and she consented. When they had come to the -sweets, Mr. Mainbridge could control his pent-up feelings no longer, and -was about to propose when Joan stopped him. - -"We are too poor to indulge in the luxury of being in love," said she, -with a sweet frankness which took the sting from the rebuff and dimly -implied hope for the future. "I shall not marry until I am earning as -much money as--as the man I love. I could not be happy unless I were -independent. Oh, Mr. Mainbridge! if you do care to please me, prove it -by introducing me to the editor of your paper! I want to ask him for -work." - -The stricken young man felt his throat suddenly dry. In his first -acquaintance with Joan he had boasted of his "influence" with the powers -that were upon that new and phenomenally successful daily, _The Planet_. -As a matter of fact, the influence existed in Mainbridge's dreams, and -there only. Sir Edmund Foster, the proprietor and editor, hardly knew -him by sight, and probably would not recognise him out of Fleet Street. -To ask such a favour as an introduction for a strange young girl, -however attractive, was almost as much as the poor fellow's place was -worth, but he could not bear to refuse Joan. - -"Tell Sir Edmund that I have information, important to the paper, for -his private ear," added the girl, reading her admirer's mind as if it -had been a book. - -"But--but if--er--you haven't really anything which he----" stammered -Mainbridge. - -"Oh, I have! I guarantee he shall be satisfied with me and not angry -with you. Only I must see him alone. Tell him I come from"--Joan -hesitated for an instant, but only for an instant--"from the Earl of -Northmuir." - -Mainbridge was impressed by the name and her air of self-confidence. -Encouraged, he promised to use every effort to bring about the -introduction, if possible the very next day. If he succeeded, he would -telegraph Joan the time of the appointment, which would certainly not be -earlier than three in the afternoon, as Sir Edmund never appeared at the -office until that hour. - -"Then I won't stop for the telegram and give him a chance to change his -mind before I can drive from Woburn Place to Fleet Street," said Joan. -"I will be at the office at three in the afternoon, and wait until -something is settled, if I have to wait till three in the morning." - -The next day, after luncheon, Joan chose her costume with extreme care, -as she invariably did when it was necessary to arm herself for conquest. -Radiant in pale blue cloth edged with sable, she presented herself at -the offices of _The Planet_. There was a waiting-room at the end of a -long corridor, and there she was bidden to sit; but instead of remaining -behind a closed door, as soon as her guide was out of sight she began -walking up and down near the stairway where Sir Edmund Foster must -sooner or later pass. She had never seen the famous man, but she -remembered his photograph in one of the illustrated papers. - -Presently a tall, smooth-shaven, sallow man, with eagle features and -bags under his keen eyes, came rapidly along the corridor, accompanied -by a much younger, less impressive man, who might have been a secretary. -Joan advanced, pretending to be absorbed in thought, then stood aside -with a start of shy surprise and a look nicely calculated to express -reverence of greatness. Sir Edmund Foster glanced at the apparition and -let his eyes linger for a few seconds as his companion rang the bell of -the lift, close to the wide stone stairway. - -"When he hears that there is a young woman waiting to see him, he will -remember me, and the recollection may influence his decision," thought -Joan, who did not under-value her beauty as an asset. - -Perhaps it fell out as she hoped (things often did), for she had not -read more than three or four back numbers of _The Planet_, which lay on -the waiting-room table, when Ralph Mainbridge, flushed and almost -tremulous with excitement, came to say that Sir Edmund had consented to -see her at once. - -Without seeming as much overpowered as he expected, the girl prepared to -enter the presence of greatness. But she was not in reality as calm as -she appeared. The thunderous whirr of the printing-machines had almost -bereft her of the capacity for thought, just at the moment when she -wished to think clearly. Her nerves were twanging like the strings of a -violin which is out of tune, and it was an intense relief to be shot up -in the alarmingly rapid lift to a quieter region. The rumbling roar was -deadened on Sir Edmund's floor, and as the door of his private office -closed on her, it was shut out altogether. - -"Miss Carthew, from Lord Northmuir," the famous editor-proprietor said. -"I believe you have some interesting information for me." He smiled -with a certain dry benignity, for Joan was very pretty, and he was, -after all, a man. "I think I saw you downstairs." - -"I saw you, Sir Edmund." Joan's manner was dignified now, rather than -shy. "I trust you will not be angry, but within the last two hours -everything has changed for me. Lord Northmuir, whom I know well through -my cousin, Miss Mercy Milton, his ward (you may have heard of her; we -are said to resemble each other), has now changed his mind about -allowing the piece of information I meant for you to be published. He -has forbidden his name to be used, but it was too late to stop that. I -can only beg, for my cousin Miss Milton's sake more than my own, that -you will not let the fact come to his ears; if it should, she will -suffer." - -"You need not fear that," Sir Edmund reassured her; "but if you have no -information to give me, Miss--er----" - -"I had to come and explain why I hadn't," Joan cut in. "I hope you -won't blame poor Mr. Mainbridge for putting you to this trouble. It -isn't his fault, and he doesn't even know." - -"Who is Mr. Mainbridge? Oh, ah! yes, of course. Pray don't regard it -as a trouble. Quite the contrary. But unfortunately, I----" - -"You would say you are a very busy man," Joan threw into the editor's -suggestive pause. "I won't take up much more of your time. But I want -to say that, although I have nothing of value, as I hoped, to tell, I -shall have later, if you will consent to engage me on your staff." - -Sir Edmund laughed. He evidently considered Joan a spoiled darling of -Society with a new whim. "My dear young lady!" he exclaimed, "in what -capacity, pray? We do not devote space to fashions, even in a Saturday -edition. Would you come to us as a reporter, like your friend Mr. -Mainbridge?" - -"As a special reporter," amended Joan. "I would undertake any mission of -importance----" - -"There are none going begging on _The Planet_. But" (this soothingly by -way of sugaring a dismissal) "you have only to get hold of something -good and bring it to me. For instance, some nice, spicy little item as -to the truth of the rumoured alliance between Russia and Japan. We -would pay you quite well for that, you know, provided you gave it to us -in time to publish ahead of any other paper." - -"How much would you pay me?" asked Joan, nettled at this chaffing tone -of the famous man. - -"Enough to buy a new frock and perhaps a few hairpins; say a hundred -pounds." - -"That isn't enough," said Joan; "I should want a thousand." - -Sir Edmund turned a sudden, keen gaze upon the girl; then his face -relaxed. "We might rise to that. At all events, I'm safe in promising -it." - -"It _is_ a promise, then?" - -"Oh, certainly." - -"Thank you. Let me see if I understand clearly. I'm not quite the baby -you think, Sir Edmund. I read the papers--yours especially--and take, I -trust, an intelligent interest in the political situation. Now, the -latest rumour is that Russia is secretly planning an understanding with -Japan and China. What you would like to know is whether there is truth -in the rumour, and what, in that event, England would do." - -"Exactly. That is what all the papers are dying to find out." - -"If you could get the official news before any of them, you would give -the person who obtained it for you a thousand pounds. If, in addition, -they, or one of them--let us say _The Daily Beacon_--got the _wrong_ -news on the same day, you would no doubt add five hundred to the -original thousand; for revenge is sweet, even to an editor, I suppose, -and _The Beacon_ has, I have heard, contrived to be first in the field -on one or two important occasions within the last few years." - -This allusion was a pin-prick in a sensitive place, for Joan was aware -that _The Daily Beacon_ and _The Planet_ were deadly rivals as well as -political opponents. Mainbridge had told her the tale of _The Planet's_ -humiliation by the enemy, and she had not forgotten. _The Beacon_ had -been able, at the very time when _The Planet_ was arguing against their -probability, to assert that certain political events would take place, -and in time these statements had been justified, to the discomfiture of -_The Planet_. - -Sir Edmund frowned slightly. "_The Daily Beacon_ possesses exceptional -advantages," he sneered. "It is difficult for less favoured journals to -compete with it for political information." - -"I believe I can guess what you refer to," answered Joan. "I hear -things, you know, from my cousin, Miss Milton." (This to shield -Mainbridge.) "Lord Henry Borrowdaile, an Under Secretary of State, is a -distant relative of Mr. Portheous, the proprietor of _The Daily Beacon_, -and it is said that there has been a curious leakage of diplomatic -secrets, once or twice, by which _The Beacon_ profited." - -"You are a well-informed young lady." - -"I hope to earn your cheque as well as your compliment," said Joan. -"Perhaps you will write it before many days have passed." - -"It must be before many days, if at all." - -"I understand that time presses, if you are to be first in the field, -for the great secret can't be kept from the public for more than a week -or ten days at most. But look here, Sir Edmund, would you go that extra -five hundred if, on the day that your paper published the truth about -the situation, _The Beacon_ made a fool of itself by printing exactly -the opposite?" - -"Yes," said the editor, "I would." - -"Well, we shall see what we shall see," returned Joan. She then took -leave of Sir Edmund, who was certainly not in a mood to blame Mainbridge -for an introduction under false pretences, even if he were far from sure -that charming Miss Carthew could accomplish miracles. - -As for Joan, her head was in a whirl. She wanted to do this thing more -than she had ever wanted anything in her life, though it had not entered -her head a few moments ago. She would not despise fifteen hundred -pounds; but it was not of the money she was dreaming as she told her -cabman to drive to Battersea Park, and keep on driving till ordered to -stop. The strange girl could always collect and concentrate her -thoughts while driving, and this was her object now. - -Joan had never met Lord Henry Borrowdaile, but during her year at -Northmuir House she had known people who were friends or enemies of the -young man and his wife. She had her own reason for listening with -interest to intimate talk about the character and private affairs of -persons who were important figures in the world, for at any time she -might wish to use knowledge thus gained. She did not believe, from what -she had heard, that Lord Henry Borrowdaile, son of the Marquis of -Wastwater, was a man to betray State secrets for money. He was "bookish" -and literary, and though he was not rich, neither did he covet riches. -But he did adore his beautiful young wife, and was said by those who -knew him to be as wax in her hands. She was popular, as well as pretty; -was vain of being the leader of a very gay set, and dressed as if her -reputation depended upon being the best-gowned woman in London. Because -Lady Henry posed as an _ingnue_, who scarcely knew politics from polo, -Joan suspected her. "It is she who worms out secrets from her husband -and sells them to Portheous," Joan said to herself. "Oh! to be a fly on -the wall in the Borrowdailes' house for the next week!" - -This wish was so vivid, that like a lightning flash it seemed to -illumine the dim corners of the girl's brain. She suddenly recalled -another story of the inestimable Mainbridge's, told in connection with -the rivalry of _The Daily Beacon_ and _The Planet_. - -"An eminent statesman's servant told the secret of his master's intended -resignation," she said to herself. "Why shouldn't a servant at the -Borrowdailes'----" - -She did not finish out the thought at the moment; the vista it opened -was too wide to be taken in at a glance. But after driving for an hour -round and round Battersea Park, the patient cabman suddenly received an -order to go quickly to Clarkson's, the wigmaker. At the shop, the -hansom was discharged, and it was a very different-looking fare which -another cab picked up at the same door somewhat later. - - - - -CHAPTER X--The Coup of "The Planet" - - -About half-past five, a plump old country-woman, with a brown tissue -veil over her ruddy, wrinkled face, waddled into a green-grocer's not -far from South Audley Street. She bade the young man in the shop a -wheezy "Good day," and asked if she might be bold enough to inquire -whether Lady Henry Borrowdaile's housekeeper were a customer. Yes, the -youth admitted with pride, for anything in their line which was not sent -up from the Marquis of Wastwater's, in the country, they had the honour -of serving her Ladyship. - -"Ah! I thought how it would be, your place being so near, and the -nicest round about," said the old country-woman. "The truth is, I have -to go to the house on a disagreeable errand. I volunteered to do it for -a friend, and I've forgotten the number. I've to break some bad news to -one of the housemaids." - -"Not Miss Jessie Adams, I hope!" protested the young man, blushing up to -the roots of his light hair. - -"Yes, it is poor Jessie," said the old woman. "You know her?" - -"We've been walking out together the last six months. I suppose her -father's took bad again, or--or worse?" - -"He's living--or was when I left; but----" and the old-fashioned bonnet -with the veil shook ominously. "Well, I must go and do my duty. I hope -she'll be able to get home for a week or so." - -A few minutes later, Joan, delighted with her disguise and the detective -skill she was developing, rang the servants' bell at the Borrowdailes'. -She had learned what she had hoped to learn, the name of one of the -maids, and she had also learned something more--the fact that Jessie -Adams had a father whose state of health would afford an excuse for -absence; and the existence of a lover, who would probably urge immediate -marriage if there were enough money on either side. - -The old countrywoman with the brown veil was voluble to the footman who -opened the door. She explained that she had news from home for Jessie -Adams, and was shown into a servant's sitting-room, where presently -appeared a fresh-looking girl with languishing eyes, and a full, weak -mouth. - -"Oh, I thought perhaps it would be Aunt Emmy!" exclaimed the young -person in cap and apron. - -"No, I'm not Aunt Emmy, but you may take it I'm a friend," replied the -old woman. "Don't be frightened. Your father ain't so very bad, but -your folks would be glad to have you at home if you could manage it. -And, look here, my gell, here's good news for you. You may make a tidy -bit of money by going, if you can get off at once--this very night. How -much must you and that nice young man of yours put by before you can -marry?" - -"We can't marry till he sets up in business for himself, and it will -take a hundred pounds at least," said the girl. "We've each got about -ten pounds saved towards it. But what's ten pounds?" - -"Added on to ninety it makes a hundred, and you can earn that by lending -your place here for one fortnight to a niece of mine, who wants to be a -journalist and write what the doings inside a smart house are like. -She'd name no names, so you'd never be given away. All you'd have to do -would be to tell the housekeeper your father was took bad, and would she -let you go if you'd bring your cousin Maria in your stead--a clever, -experienced girl, with the best references from Lord Northmuir's house?" - -"My goodness me, you take my breath away!" gasped Jessie Adams. "How do -I know but your niece is a thief who'd steal her Ladyship's jewels?" - -"You don't know, except that I say she isn't. But, anyhow, what does it -matter to you? You don't need to come back or ever be in service again. -Here's the ninety pounds in gold, my dear. You can bite every piece, if -you wish; and you've but to do what I say to get them before you walk -out of this house. You settle matters with the housekeeper, and I'll -have my niece call on her within the hour." - -The girl with the languishing eyes and the weak mouth had her price, -like many of her betters, and it happened to be exactly ninety pounds. -Joan had brought a hundred, and considered that she had made a bargain. -Jessie consented to speak to the housekeeper, and the countrywoman -departed. By this time it was dusk. She took a four-wheeler and drove -to the gates of the Park. In a dark and lonely spot the outer disguise -was whisked off, and the paint wiped from her face. Underneath her -shawl she wore a neat black dress, suitable for a housemaid in search of -a situation. This, too, Joan had thoughtfully obtained at Clarkson's, -whence her pale blue cloth had been despatched by messenger to Woburn -Place. The bonnet was quickly shaped into a hat; the stuffing which had -plumped out the thin, girlish form was wrapped in the shawl which had -concealed it, and hidden under a bush. Joan's own hair was combed primly -back from her forehead, and strained so tightly at the sides as to -change the expression of her face completely. "Cousin Maria" was as -different from Miss Joan Carthew as a mouse is from a bird of Paradise. - -Cream could not be more velvety soft than Joan's voice, the eye of a -dove more mild than hers, as she conversed with Lady Henry Borrowdaile's -housekeeper. And she was armed with a magnificent reference. There had -been a Maria Jordan at Lord Northmuir's, as housemaid, in Joan's day -there, but the real Maria had gone to America, and it was safe and -simple to write in praise of this young person's character and -accomplishments, signing the document Mercy Milton. At worst, even if -Lady Henry's housekeeper sent the reference to Lord Northmuir's -housekeeper, the imposition could not be proved. Maria might have had -time to come back from America, and Miss Milton, now departed, might -have consented to please the housemaid by giving her a written -recommendation. - -But Maria Jordan's manner as an applicant to fill her cousin's place was -so respectful and respectable, and the need to decide was so pressing, -that Lady Henry's housekeeper resolved to accept Jordan, so to speak, on -face value. That same night Jessie Adams went home (or somewhere else), -and her cousin stepped into the vacant niche. - -Meanwhile, Joan had, on the plea of picking up her luggage, driven to -one or two cheap shops in the Tottenham Court Road, and provided herself -with a tin box and a suitable outfit for a superior housemaid. She was -thankful to find that she would have a room to herself, and delighted to -discover that Jessie Adams and Mathilde, Lady Henry's own maid, had been -on terms of friendship. Their rooms adjoined; Jessie had been teaching -Mathilde English in odd moments, and Mathilde had often obligingly -carried messages to the enamoured greengrocer. - -Joan lost not a moment in winning her way into Mathilde's good graces, -wasting the less time because she had already made preparations with a -view to such an end. She had bought a large box of delicious sweets, -which she pretended her own "young man" had given her, and this she -placed at the French girl's disposal. It happened that Lady Henry was -dining out and going to the theatre afterwards that night, and Mathilde, -being free, visited Maria easily in her room, where she sat on the bed, -swinging her well-shod feet and eating cream chocolates. Maria, in the -course of conversation, chanced to mention that her "young man" was the -partner of a French hairdresser in Knightsbridge; that the two were -intimate friends; that the hairdresser was young, singularly handsome, -well-to-do, and looking out for a Parisienne as a wife. This Admirable -Crichton was in France at present, on business, Maria added, but he -would return in the course of a fortnight, when Maria's "young man" -should effect an introduction, as she was sure that Monsieur Jacques -would fall in love at first sight with Mathilde. - -Mathilde pretended indifference, but she thought Maria the nicest girl -she had met in England, far more _chic_ than Jessie; and when she heard -that her new friend longed to be a lady's maid, she offered to coach her -in the art. Maria was gushingly grateful, for though she had (she said) -already acted as maid to one or two ladies, they had not been "swells" -like Lady Henry, and lessons from Mathilde would be of inestimable -value. - -"I suppose," she went on coaxingly, "that if I showed you I could do -hair nicely, and understood what was wanted of a lady's maid, you -wouldn't be took ill, and give me a chance to try my hand on Lady Henry? -Practice on her Ladyship would be worth a lot of lessons, wouldn't it? -My goodness! I'd give all my savings for such a chance in a house like -this! Think of the help it would be to me afterwards to say I'd been -understudy, as you might call it, to a real expert like Mathilde, Lady -Henry Borrowdaile's own maid, and given great satisfaction in the part! -It might mean a good place for me. I ain't jokin', mademoiselle. I've -got twenty-five sovereigns saved up, and if you'll have neuralgia so bad -you can't lift your head from the pillow for three or four days, those -twenty-five sovereigns are yours." - -"_Mais_, for me to have ze neuralgia, it do not make that milady take -you for my place," said the laughing Mathilde. - -"No, but leave that to me. You shall have the money just the same." - -"All right," said Mathilde, giggling, scarce believing that her friend -was in earnest. "I have ze neuralgia _demain_--to-morrow." - -Joan sprang up and went to the new tin box. She bent over it for a -moment, with her back to Mathilde; then she turned, with a stocking in -her hand--a stocking fat in the foot, and tied round the ankle with a -bit of ribbon. "Count what's there," she exclaimed, emptying the -stocking in Mathilde's lap. - -There were gold and silver, and even a little copper. Altogether, the -sum amounted to that which Maria had named, and a few shillings over. - -Mathilde was dazzled. What with this bird in hand, and another in the -bush (the eligible hairdresser), she was ready to do almost anything for -Maria. Later that night, in undressing Lady Henry, she complained of -suffering such agony that she feared for the morrow. Luckily, should -she be incapacitated for a short time, there was a girl now in the house -(a young person in the place of the first housemaid, absent on account -of trouble in the family) who had been lady's maid and knew her -business. Lady Henry was too sleepy to care what might happen -to-morrow--indeed, scarcely listened to Mathilde's murmurings; but when -to-morrow was to-day, and a sweet-faced, sweet-voiced girl announced -that Mathilde could not leave her bed, the spoiled beauty remembered -last night's conversation. After some grumbling, she consented to try -what Jordan could do; and while the second housemaid pouted over Maria's -work, Maria was busy ingratiating herself with Lady Henry--ingratiating -herself so thoroughly that Mathilde would have trembled jealously for -the future could she have seen or heard. Joan was one of those rare -creatures, born for success, who set their teeth in unbreakable resolve -to do whatever they must do, well. Being a lady herself, with all a -lady's fastidious tastes, she knew how a lady liked to be waited upon. -She was not attracted by Lady Henry, whom men called an angel, and women -"a cat," but she was as attentive as if her whole happiness depended on -her mistress's approbation. Mathilde was efficient, but frivolous and -flighty, sometimes inclined to sulkiness; and Lady Henry, superbly -indifferent to the sufferings of servants, decided that she would not be -sorry if Mathilde were ill a long time. - -Two or three days went by; Joan kept the Parisienne supplied with -_bonbons_ and French novels, and carried up all her meals, arranged -almost as daintily as if they had been for her Ladyship. Mathilde was -happy, and Joan was--waiting. But her patience was not to be tried for -long. - -On the third day, she was told that her mistress was dining at home, -alone with Lord Henry. This was such an unusual event that Joan was -sure it meant something, especially when Lady Henry demanded one of her -prettiest frocks. A footman, inclined to be Maria's slave, was smiled -upon, intercepted during dinner, and questioned. "They're behaving like -turtle-doves," said he. - -Joan had expected this. "That little cat has guessed or discovered that -everything is settled, and she means to get the truth out of him this -evening, so that somehow she can give the news to _The Daily Beacon_ -to-night, in time to go to press for to-morrow," the girl reflected. - -She was excited, but the great moment had come, and she kept herself -rigidly under control, for much depended upon calmness and fertility in -resource. "They will have their coffee in Lady Henry's boudoir," Joan -reflected, "and that is when she will get to work." - -She thought thus on her way upstairs, carrying a dress of Lady Henry's, -from which she had been brushing the marks of a muddy carriage-wheel. -She laid it on a chair, and saw on another a milliner's box. Her -mistress had not mentioned that she was expecting anything, and Joan's -curiosity was aroused. She untied the fastenings, lifted a layer of -tissue paper, and saw a neat, dark green tailor-dress, with a toque made -of the same material and a little velvet. There was also a long, plain -coat of the green cloth, with gold buttons, and on the breast pocket was -embroidered an odd design in gold thread. - -Joan suddenly became thoughtful. This dress was as unlike as possible -to the butterfly style which Lady Henry affected, and all who knew her -knew that she detested dark colours. Yet this costume was distinctly -sombre and severe; and the name of the milliner was unfamiliar to Joan. - -"It's like a disguise," the girl said to herself, "and I'll bet anything -that's what it's for. She went to a strange milliner; she made a point -of the things being ready to-night; she chose a costume which would -absolutely change her appearance, if worn with a thick veil. And then -that bit of embroidery on the pocket! Why, it's a miniature copy of the -design they print under the title of _The Beacon_. It is a beacon, -flaming! She means to slip out of the house when she's got the secret -safe, and somebody at the office of the paper will have been ordered to -take a veiled woman with such a dress as this up to Portheous' private -office, without her speaking a word. Well--a woman will go there, but I -hope it won't be Lady Henry." - -Without stopping for an instant's further reflection, Joan caught up the -box and flew with it to her own room, where she pushed it under the bed. -She then watched her chance, and when no one was in sight, darted into -the boudoir, where she squeezed herself behind a screen close to the -door. She might have found a more convenient hiding-place, but this, -though uncomfortable, gave her an advantage. If the two persons she -expected to enter the room elected to sit near the fireplace, as they -probably would, Joan might be able to steal noiselessly away without -being seen or heard. - -She had not had much time to spare, for ten minutes after she had -plastered herself against the wall, Lord and Lady Henry came in. They -went to the sofa in front of the fire and chatted of commonplaces until -after the coffee and _Orange Marnier_ had been brought. Then Lady Henry -took out her jewelled cigarette-case, gave a cigarette to her husband -and took one herself. To light hers from his, she perched on Lord -Henry's knee, remaining in that position to play with his hair, her -white fingers flashing with rings. She cooed to her husband prettily, -saying how nice it was to be with him alone, and how it grieved her to -see him weary and worried. - -"Is the old Russian Bear going to take hands and dance prettily with -little Japan and big China, darling?" she purred. "You know, precious, -talking to me is as safe as talking to yourself." - -"I know, my pet. Thank goodness, the strain is over. England and -France together have brought such pressure to bear, that Russia was in a -funk. The ultimatum we issued----" - -"Oh, then, the ultimatum _was_ sent?" - -"Yes. If Russia had held firm, nothing could have prevented war. But -for obvious diplomatic reasons, the papers must not be able to state -officially that any negotiations of the sort have ever taken place. -There has been a rumour, but that will die out." - -"Ah, well, I'm glad there won't be war; but as _you're_ not a soldier, -and can't be killed, it wouldn't have broken my heart. Kiss me and let's -talk of something amusing. Your poor pet gets a headache if she has to -think of affairs of State too long." - -Joan did not wait for the end of the last sentence. She began with the -utmost caution to move the farther end of the screen forward, until she -could reach the door-handle. With infinite patience she turned the knob -at the rate of an inch a minute, until it was possible to open the door. -Then she pulled it slowly, very slowly, towards her. At last she could -slip into the corridor, where she had an instant of sickening fear lest -she should be detected by a passing servant. Luck was with her, however; -but instead of seizing the chance to run upstairs unseen, she stopped, -shut the door as softly as it had been opened, and then knocked. Lady -Henry's voice, with a ring of relief, called "Come in!" Joan showed -herself on the threshold, and announced that a person from Frasquet's, -of George Street, had called to say that by mistake a costume ordered by -Lady Henry had been sent to the wrong address, but that search would at -once be made, and the box brought to South Audley Street as soon as -found. - -Lady Henry sprang up with an exclamation of anger, and called down the -vengeance of the gods upon the house of Frasquet. - -"Might I suggest, your Ladyship, that I go with the messenger, and make -sure of bringing back the box, if the dress is a valuable one?" asked -Joan. - -Lady Henry caught at this idea. Joan was bidden to run away and not to -come back till she had the box. "I will give you a sovereign if you -bring it home before midnight," she added. - -Joan walked calmly out with the box from Frasquet's, took a cab, and -drove to Woburn Place, where, in her own room, she dressed herself as -Lady Henry had intended to be dressed. The frock and coat fitted -sufficiently well, for Jordan and her mistress were somewhat of the same -figure. An embroidered black veil, with one of chiffon underneath, -completely hid her features; and, heavily perfumed with Lady Henry's -favourite scent, at precisely a quarter to eleven she presented herself -at the office of _The Daily Beacon_. A gesture of a gloved hand towards -the flaming gold on the coat was as if a password had been spoken. She -was conducted to a private office on the first floor, and there received -by a bearded, red-faced man, who sprang up on her entrance. - -"Well--well?" he demanded. - -The veiled and scented lady put her finger to her lips. - -"'Sh!" she breathed. Then, disguising her voice by whispering, she went -on. "Russia China, and Japan have signed the alliance, in spite of -England and France, whom they have defied very insolently, and it's only -a question of a short time before the storm breaks. There! That's all, -in a nutshell. I must run away at once." - -[Illustration: "'Sh!' she breathed."] - -"A thousand thanks! You're a brick!" Mr. Portheous pressed the gloved -hand and left a cheque in it. "We shall go to press with this -immediately." - -Joan glanced at the cheque, saw it was for seven hundred pounds, and -despised Lady Henry for cheapening the market. Her waiting cab drove her -a few streets farther on, to the office of _The Planet_. A card with -the name of Miss Carthew, and "Important private business" scrawled upon -it, was the "Open, sesame!" to Sir Edmund Foster's door. - -"Have you your cheque-book handy?" she nonchalantly asked. - -"What for?" - -"_Quid pro quo._" Joan rushed into her whole story, which she told from -beginning to end, proving its truth by showing Mr. Portheous' cheque -made out to Mrs. Anne Randall. "Lady Henry, no doubt, has an account -somewhere under that name. She's too sharp to use her own," added the -girl. "Do you believe me now?" - -"Yes. You're wonderful. I shall risk printing the news exactly as you -have given it to me." - -"You won't regret your trust. But I don't want your cheque to-night. -I'll take it to-morrow, when I can say: 'I told you so.'" - -"Would you still like to come on our staff--at a salary of ten pounds a -week?" - -"No, thank you, Sir Edmund. I've brought off my big _coup_, and -anything more in the newspaper line would be, I fear, an anticlimax. -Besides, I want to play with my fifteen hundred pounds." - -"What shall you do now?" - -"Go back to the house which has the honour of being my home, change my -clothes, hurry breathlessly to South Audley Street, and inform Lady -Henry that her costume can't be found. She will then, in desperation, -decide to send a note to _The Daily Beacon_, which, my prophetic soul -whispers, she will order me to take." - -"Shall you go?" - -"Out of the house, yes--never, never to return, for my work there is -done. But not to the office of _The Beacon_. Lady Henry's box shall be -sent to her by parcel post to-morrow morning, and Mrs. Randall's cheque -will be in the coat pocket. That will surprise her a little, but it -won't matter to me; for, after having called here for my cheque, I think -I'll take the two o'clock train for the Continent. I shall have plenty -of money to enjoy myself, and I feel I need a change of air." - -"You are wonderful!" repeated Sir Edmund Foster. - - - - -CHAPTER XI--Kismet and a V.C. - - -"Now, where on earth have I seen that girl before?" Joan Carthew asked -herself. - -It was at Biarritz, where she was enjoying, as she put it to herself, a -well-earned holiday; and she was known at her hotel, and among the few -acquaintances she had made, as the Comtesse de Merival, a young widow -with plenty of money. She was a Comtesse because it is easy to say that -one has married a sprig of foreign nobility, without being found out; -she was a widow because it is possible for a widow to be alone, -unchaperoned, and to amuse herself without ceasing to be _comme il -faut_. - -Joan had amused herself a great deal during the six weeks since she had -left England, and the cream of the amusement had consisted in inventing -a romantic story about herself and getting it believed. It was as good -as acting in a successful play which one has written for oneself. - -At the present moment she was walking on the _plage_, pleasantly -conscious that she was one of the prettiest and best-dressed women among -many who were pretty and well-dressed. Then a blonde girl passed her, a -blonde girl who was new to Biarritz, but who, somehow, did not seem new -to Joan's retina. Her photograph was somewhere in the book of memory, -and, oddly enough, it seemed to have a background of sea and blue sky, -as it had to-day. - -The girl was pretty, as a beautifully dressed, golden-haired doll in a -shop window is pretty. She was also exceedingly "good form," and she was -vouched for as a young person of importance by a remarkably -distinguished-looking old man who strolled beside her. - -They turned, and in passing the "Comtesse" for the second time, the girl -looked full in Joan's face, with a lingering gaze such as a spoiled -beauty often directs upon a possible rival. - -Then, all in an instant, Joan knew. - -"Why," she reminded herself, "it's the girl I saw at Brighton--the girl -I envied. I know it is she. That's eight years ago, but I can't be -mistaken." - -Somehow this seemed an important discovery. If Joan, a miserable, -overworked slavey of twelve, nursing her tyrant's baby, had not been -bitten with consuming jealousy of a child no older but a thousand times -more fortunate than herself, she might have gone on indefinitely as a -slavey, and might never have had a career. - -The little girl at Brighton had looked scornfully from under her softly -drooping Leghorn hat at the shabby child-nurse, and a rage of resentment -had boiled in Joan's passionate young heart. Now, the tall girl at -Biarritz looked with half-reluctant admiration from under an equally -becoming hat at the Comtesse de Merival, who was more beautiful and -apparently quite as fortunate as she. Nevertheless the old scar -suddenly throbbed again, so that Joan remembered there had once been a -wound; and she knew that she had no gratitude for the girl to whom, -indirectly, she owed her rise in the world. - -Joan was usually generous to women, even when she had no cause to love -them, for, with all her faults, there was nothing of the "cat" in her -nature; yet, to her surprise, she felt that she would like to hurt this -girl in some way. "What a brute I must be!" she said to herself. "I -didn't know I was so bad. Really I mustn't let this sort of thing grow -on me, otherwise I shall degenerate from a highwayman (rather a gallant -one, I think) into a cad, and I should lose interest in foraging for -myself if I were a cad." - -As she thought this, the girl and her companion were joined by a man. -Joan glanced, then gazed, and decided that he was the most interesting -man to look at whom she had ever seen in her life. Not that he was the -handsomest, as mere beauty of feature goes, but he was of exactly the -type which Joan and most women admire at heart above all others. - -One did not need to be told, to know that he was a soldier. As he stood -talking to his friends, with his hat off, and the sun chiselling the -ripples of his close-cropped hair in bronze, his head towered above -those of the other men who came and went. His face was bronze, too, of -a lighter shade, blending into ivory half way up the forehead, and his -features were strong and clear-cut as a bronze man's should always be. -He wore no moustache or beard, and his mouth and chin were self-reliant, -firm, and generous, but Joan liked his eyes best of all. As she passed -slowly, they met hers for a second, and their clear depths were brown -and bright as a Devonshire brook when the noonday sun shines into it. - -It was only for a second that the man's soul looked at her from its -windows, but it was long enough to make her sharply realise two facts. -One, that she was far, far beneath him; the other, that he was the only -man in the world for her. - -"To think that _that_ girl should know him, and I not!" she said to -herself rebelliously. "He is miles too good for me, but he's more miles -too good for her, because she hasn't any soul, and I have, even though -it's a bad one. Again, after all these years, that girl passes through -my life, taking with her as she goes what I would give all I own, all I -might ever gain, to have. It's Kismet--nothing less." - -"_Ah, Comtesse, bon jour_!" murmured a voice that Joan knew, and then it -went on in very good English, with only a slight foreign accent: "You -are charming to-day, but you do not see your friends. They must remind -you of their existence before they can win a bow." - -"I have just seen some one who was like a ghost out of the past," -returned Joan, with a careless smile for the handsome, dark young man -who had stopped to greet her. - -"What!" his face lighted up. "You know that young lady you were looking -at? That is indeed interesting, and I will tell you why, presently, if -you will let me. If you would but introduce me--at all events, to the -father. The rest I can do for myself." - -"I don't know her," said Joan, "although an important issue of my life -was associated with the girl. I can't even give you her name." - -"I can do as much as that for you," said the Marchese Villa Fora. "She -is a Miss Violet Ffrench, and the old man is her father, General -Ffrench. Not only is she one of the greatest beauties, but one of the -greatest heiresses in England." - -"Ah!" said Joan, "no wonder you are interested." - -"No wonder. But what good does that do to me, since I have not the -honour of her acquaintance, and since she is to marry that great, bronze -statue of a fellow?" - -A pang shot through Joan's heart, and she was ashamed because it was a -jealous pang. "She is to marry him! How do you know that, since you -are not acquainted with her?" - -"It is an open secret. I saw the father and daughter in Paris three -weeks ago, and fell in love at first sight--ah! you may laugh. You -Englishwomen cannot understand us Latins. It is true that I proposed to -you, but you would not take me, and my heart was soon after caught in -the rebound. It is very simple." - -"You thought that you fell in love with me at first sight, too; at -least, you said so, and without any introduction except picking up my -purse when I dropped it in the Champs lyses." - -"I got an introduction afterwards." - -"Yes, a lady who was staying at my hotel." - -"At all events, she vouched for me. She has known my family for years, -in Madrid." - -"She warned me against you, Marchese. She said that you were a -fortune-hunter, and that you fancied I was rich. When you had proposed, -and I had told you frankly that my fortune was but silver-gilt, -warranted to keep its colour for a few years only, you were very much -obliged to me for refusing you, as it saved you the trouble of jilting -me afterwards. You are still more obliged to me now that you have met a -genuine heiress who has all other desirable qualifications as well." - -"You are cruel," exclaimed Villa Fora, to whose style of good looks -reproaches were becoming. "Cannot a man love twice? What does it matter -to the heart whether there has been an interval of weeks or of years? I -am madly in love with Miss Ffrench, and as you promised to be my friend -if I would 'talk no more nonsense,' I have no hesitation in confessing -it to you. I followed her here from Paris, and arrived only this -afternoon. She is at the Hotel Victoria; therefore, so am I." - -"So am I, but not 'therefore,'" cut in Joan. "And the--the man you say -she is to marry?" - -"Colonel Sir Justin Wentworth? He is at the Grand. But he has come for -her. I know the whole story--I have it from a gossiping old lady who is -_au courant_ with every one's affairs if they are worth bothering with; -and she does not make mistakes. She has told me that General Ffrench was -the guardian of this Sir Justin, that the father--a baronet--was his -dearest friend. The match has been an understood thing ever since -Wentworth was eighteen and the girl five; for there is quite thirteen -years' difference in their ages." - -"Then he is about thirty-four or five," said Joan thoughtfully. - -"Yes, but in that I am not interested. The awful part for me is that the -girl is now of age, and the obstacle of her youth no longer prevents the -marriage. Any day the worst may happen. If I could only meet her, I -might have a chance to undermine the cold, bronze statue, even though he -has a great reputation as a soldier, and is a V.C. But how to manage an -introduction? The father has the air of a mediaeval dragon." - -Joan's heart said: "The man is not a cold statue," but aloud she -remarked: "I see now why you hoped that I knew Miss Ffrench. You wanted -_me_ to manage it. Well, perhaps I can, even as it is. I have -undertaken more difficult things and succeeded." - -"Oh, if you would! But why should I hope it, since you have nothing to -gain?" - -Joan dropped her eyes and did not answer. - -"Yet you will try?" pleaded Villa Fora. - -"Yet I will try, on one condition. You must be a connection of the late -Comte de Merival." - -"Your husband!" - -Joan smiled as she nodded. - -"I am Spanish; he was, I understand, French. But then that presents no -difficulty. There are such things as international marriages." - -"Yes. Your mother's sister married an uncle of my husband's, didn't -she?" - -"Quite so. It is settled," agreed the Marchese gravely. - -"Well, then, that is the sharp end of the wedge. I will do my best and -cleverest to insert it," said Joan. "As you have just arrived, it will -be the easier. We are cousins. It can appear to all those whom it does -not concern (meaning the gossips of the hotel) that you have run on to -see your cousin. For the rest, you must trust me for a day or two, or -perhaps more." - -Joan had tea--with her cousin--at Miremont's; and they saw the Ffrenches -and Sir Justin Wentworth, also having tea. Violet Ffrench looked at -Joan with the same side-glance of half-grudging admiration as before, -and Joan looked, now and then, at Violet Ffrench with a charming, frank -gaze, which seemed to say: "You are so sweetly pretty that I can't keep -my eyes off you, and I like you for being pretty." In reality it said -something quite different, but it was effects, not realities, which -mattered at the moment. - -Thus the campaign had begun, though the enemy was blissfully ignorant of -the activity upon the other side. - -Joan went back to the hotel rather earlier than she had intended, and -going straight to the large, empty dining-room, rang for the head -waiter. When he appeared, she asked if it were yet arranged where a new -arrival, General Ffrench, was to sit with his daughter. The waiter -pointed out a small table or two, near the centre of the room; but -before his hand withdrew from the gesture, it was turned palm upward in -answer to a slight, silent hint from Joan. Finally, it retired with a -louis in its clasp. "I want you to put my table close to theirs," said -she. "It shall be done, madame," replied the man; and it was done. -Therefore Joan and Violet could scarcely help exchanging more glances -from between their red-shaded candles that night at dinner, which Joan -ate alone, unaccompanied by the wistful Villa Fora. - -The Ffrenches appeared to know nobody in the hotel, and of this she was -glad. There was the more chance for her. - -After dinner there was conjuring, and Joan contrived to sit next to Miss -Ffrench. Villa Fora was on the opposite side of the big drawing-room, -where he had reluctantly gone in obedience to his "cousin's" -instructions. The conjuring made conversation, and Joan was not -surprised to find the heiress open to flattery. When the performance -was over, she kept her seat; and by this time, having introduced herself -to Miss Ffrench, the introduction was passed on to the father. He, good -man, was too well-born to be actually a snob, but he had no objection to -titles, even foreign ones, and the Comtesse de Merival was so pretty, so -modest, altogether such good form, that he had no objection to her as, -at least, an hotel acquaintance for his daughter. - -It seemed that General Ffrench had been ordered to Biarritz for his -health, and that he hoped to do some golfing; but Miss Ffrench hated -golf, and as she had no friends in the place, she expected to be very -dull. - -At this, Joan reminded her gaily of the friend with whom she and her -father had been walking in the afternoon. - -"Oh, but he is such an old friend, he doesn't count," exclaimed Violet, -blushing a little. - -"She isn't a bit in love with him," thought Joan. "What a shame! -But--_tant mieux_. She is vain and romantic; often the two qualities go -together in a woman. The ground is all prepared for me." - -By and by, Sir Justin Wentworth strolled in from his hotel. Though she -was dying to stay and meet him, and perhaps have a few words, Joan rose -and walked away. This course was approved by General Ffrench. He would -have known what to think if the beautiful Comtesse had made herself -fascinating, at such short notice, to his son-in-law elect. - -Joan talked with her "cousin," who had been in the smoking-room, and -Violet Ffrench had time to be intensely curious as to the connection -between her charming new acquaintance, the Comtesse de Merival, and the -handsome, dark young man who had been in her hotel at Paris. He had -looked at her then; he looked at her now. What was he to the Comtesse? -what was the Comtesse to him? - -Next morning, both General Ffrench and Sir Justin Wentworth walked off -to the golf-links, leaving Violet to write letters in the glass room -that looked out on the sea. Presently Joan came in, with a writing-case -in her hand, and Violet stopped in the midst of the first sentence of -her first letter. Joan did not even begin to write, nor had she ever -cherished the faintest intention of doing so. - -Violet rather hoped that she would mention the dark young man, but she -did not; and then, of course, Violet hoped it a great deal more. The -two girls drifted from one subject to another, and finally, by way of a -favourite author and a popular novel of the moment, they touched the key -of romance. - -"I used to think that romance was dead in this century, but lately I -have been finding out that it isn't," said Joan. "Oh, not personally. -Romance is over for me. I loved my husband, you see, and he died the day -of our wedding; I married him on his death-bed. That is not romance; it -is tragedy. But I am speaking of what I should not speak of, to you, so -let us talk of something else." - -"Why?" asked Violet. - -"Oh, because--because I have an idea that you are engaged." - -"How can that matter?" - -"It does matter. I oughtn't to explain, so you mustn't urge me." - -"You rouse my curiosity," said Violet; but this was not news to Joan. - -"Engaged girls shouldn't have curiosity about anything outside their own -romances," replied the Comtesse de Merival mysteriously. - -"I've never had a real romance," sighed Violet. "I've always been more -or less engaged to Sir Justin Wentworth ever since I can remember. He -is a splendid fellow, as you can see." - -"I hardly noticed," said Joan; then added, in a whisper, but not too low -a whisper to be heard: "I was so busy pitying someone else." - -Violet's colour rose, and she was really a very pretty girl, though -vanity made her eyes cold. - -"Sir Justin's father and mine were old chums," went on Violet. "Our -place and his lie close together in Devonshire. We have even some of -the same money-interests--mines in Australia. He has heaps of money, -too, so there's no question of his needing to think of mine." - -"As if any man could think of your money when he had you to think of!" -exclaimed Joan. "No doubt you will be very happy. Such a long -friendship ought to be a good foundation for the rest, and yet--and -yet--it's a pity that you should have to marry and become a placid -British matron without first knowing some of the wild joys of _real_ -love, real romance." - -"I thought you doubted there being any left in the world?" - -"No; I said I had found at least one case which had built up my faith -again; a case of passionate love, born at first sight, and strong enough -to carry the man across the world, if necessary, to follow the woman he -loves." - -"Such love isn't likely to come my way." - -"It has come your way. It is here--close to you. Oh, I have done -wrong! I should not have spoken. But I am so sorry for him--my poor, -handsome cousin." - -"Your cousin!" This was a revelation, and Violet's eyes were not cold -now, but warm with interest. - -"Yes, the Marchese Villa Fora, the best-looking and one of the best-born -young men in Spain. But indeed we must not talk of him. What a lovely -day it is! I must have my motor-car out this afternoon. How I should -love to take you with me!" - -Violet would ask no more questions; but all that had been dark was now -clear, and she could think of nothing and no one except the Comtesse's -cousin, the Marchese Villa Fora. - -Joan had been in the hotel at Biarritz for ten days, and by the trick of -"being nice" (she knew how to be very nice) to the unattached old ladies -and middle-aged dowagers, she had been accepted on her own valuation. -She did not flirt, she had a title, she appeared to be rich, she owned a -motor-car, therefore none of her statements regarding herself was -doubted. General Ffrench made an inquiry or two concerning her, was -satisfied with the replies, and therefore consented to let his daughter -join an automobile party arranged by the Comtesse for the afternoon. - -Somehow, in the motor-car, Violet sat next to the Marchese Villa Fora, -who gazed at her sadly with magnificent eyes and said very little. It -was extremely interesting, she discovered, to sit shoulder to shoulder -with a man who was dying of hopeless love for you, and had followed you -across France, though he had never spoken a word to you until to-day. -It was he who helped her out when they came back to the hotel, and the -thrill in her fingers after his had pressed them almost convulsively for -an instant remained for a long time. - - - - -CHAPTER XII--A New Love and an Old Enemy - - -Now, the thin end of the entering wedge, of which Joan had hinted, was -well in, and after this day events moved swiftly. The Comtesse de -Merival and Miss Ffrench were close friends. Violet opened her heart to -Joan and told her everything that was in it--not a long list. Joan -sympathised and advised. She did so want dear Violet to be happy, she -said, for happiness was the best thing in the world; and love was -happiness. She wanted her to have that. - -The two girls were together constantly, and this meant that Joan soon -began to see a good deal of Sir Justin Wentworth. Quickly she diagnosed -that he cared nothing for Violet Ffrench, except in a kindly, -protective, affectionate way, but that he had a deep regard for her -father. He would never try to free himself of the tacit understanding -into which he had drifted as a boy; if any change were to come, the -initiative must be taken, and firmly taken, by Violet. - -Meanwhile, two things were happening. If Violet was not precisely -falling in love with Villa Fora, she was in love with the idea of him -which was growing up in her mind; and Justin Wentworth had discovered -that he craved for something more in life than Violet Ffrench could ever -give him. - -He had gone on contentedly enough for the several years during which he -had definitely thought of the marriage. There had been the Boer war, -and then the interest of coming home to England and his beautiful old -place in Devonshire, which he loved. But now, quite suddenly, he had -awakened to the fact that contentment is no better than desperate -resignation; and though he was hardly aware of it yet, the awakening had -come to him when looking into Joan's eyes. - -He would not confess to himself that he loved her, but he thought that -she was the most vivid creature he had ever met, and he could not help -realising how curiously congenial they were in most of their thoughts. -Often he seemed to feel what she was feeling, without a word being -spoken on either side, and unconsciously he was jealous of the handsome -Spanish cousin with whom (General Ffrench innocently suggested) the -Comtesse would probably make a match. - -Joan, on her part, cared too much by this time to be able to see -clearly, where her own affairs were concerned. She had begun the little -comedy she was playing not for the sake of Villa Fora, but for her own, -with the deliberate intention of separating Violet Ffrench from Justin -Wentworth, even though she might never come any nearer to him herself. -All the machinery which she had set going was running smoothly. Violet -was fascinated by Villa Fora, was meeting him secretly and receiving -notes from him; he was determined to bring matters to a climax soon, and -was sure of his success. General Ffrench played golf all day, bridge -half the night, and suspected nothing; nor, apparently, did any one -else. Still, Joan was more miserable than she had ever been in her -life--far more miserable than when Lady Thorndyke had died without -making a new will and left her penniless. - -The girl saw herself at last as she was, unscrupulous, an adventuress, -living on her wits and the lack of wits in others. She hated herself, -and worshipped more and more each day the honourable soldier from whom -her own unworthiness (if there were no other barrier) must, she felt, -put her irrevocably apart. - -Even as Joan talked to Violet of Wentworth and Villa Fora, outwardly -agreeing with the girl that the one was cold, that it was the other who -knew how to love, her whole soul was in rebellion against itself. "He -does not think of me at all," she would repeat over and over again, -despite the secret voice of instinct which whispered a contradiction. -"He doesn't think of me; and even if he did, he would only have to know -half the truth to despise me as the vilest of women." - -Then, one day, there was a great scandal at the hotel. The Marchese -Villa Fora had run away with Miss Violet Ffrench, in the Comtesse de -Merival's motor-car, which lately he had been learning to drive. Even -Joan was taken by surprise, for she had not known that the thing was -going to happen so soon. She was actually able to tell the truth--or -something approaching the truth--when she assured the father and the -deserted _fianc_ that she was innocent of complicity. So candid were -her beautiful, wet eyes, so tremulous her sweet voice, and so pale the -delicate oval of her cheeks, that both men believed her, and one of them -was so happy in this sudden relief from the weight of a great burden -that he could have sung aloud. - -General Ffrench was far from happy; but he determined that, rather than -give fuel to the scandal, he would make the best of things as they were. -To this course he was partly persuaded by the counsels of Justin -Wentworth. Villa Fora was undoubtedly what he pretended to be, a -Spanish marquis of very ancient and honourable lineage, though it would -take many golden bricks to rebuild the family castle in Spain. The girl -had gone with him, and gone too far before the truth came out to be -brought back with good grace, therefore it were well to let her become -the Marchesa Villa Fora quietly, without useless ragings. - -The thing Joan had set herself to accomplish was done; she had separated -Justin Wentworth and Violet Ffrench for ever, and now the end had come. -She was hurt and sore, and could hardly bear to see her own face in the -glass, for she imagined that it had grown hard and cruel--that Justin -Wentworth must find it so. - -General Ffrench openly announced his daughter's marriage to the Marchese -Villa Fora, and told all inquirers that he was going to join her in -Madrid; but Justin Wentworth would not, of course, accompany his old -friend on such a mission. He would set his face towards England, and -with this intention he said "Good-bye" to the Comtesse de Merival. - -"This has hurt and shocked you, too," he said. "There is one thing I -must say to you, and it is this: it is only for her father that I care. -I want her to be happy in her own way. We did not suit each other." - -"I used sometimes to think not," Joan answered in a voice genuinely -broken. "I used to be afraid that--if you should ever marry--you would -not have been happy. Perhaps she--wasn't the right one for you." - -Her eyes were downcast, but the compelling power of love in the man's -caught them up to his and held them. - -"I have known that she wasn't the right one for a long time," he said. -"I have known the right one, and it is you. I love you with all my -heart. I want you. You are the one woman on earth for me. I hadn't -meant to say this now, but--I can't let you go out of my life. I must -do all I can to keep you always." - -"Don't!" gasped Joan. "Don't! it will kill me. Oh, if you only knew, -how you would hate me!" - -"Nothing could make me hate you." - -"Yes. Wait!" And then Joan poured out the whole story--not only of -this last fraud, but of all the frauds; the story of her "career." - -He listened to the end, without interrupting her once. Then, at last, -when the strange tale was finished, and the pale girl was silent from -sheer exhaustion of the hopeless spirit tasting its punishment in -purgatory, he held out his arms. - -"Poor, little, lonely girl!" he said. "How sorry I am for you! How I -want to comfort and take care of you all the rest of your life, so that -it may be clear and white, as your true self would have it be! And--how -glad I am that you're not a widowed Comtesse!" - - ---- - -She was in his arms still when a knock at the door roused them both from -the first dream of real happiness the girl had ever known. - -A servant brought a card. She took it from the tray and read it out -mechanically: "Mr. George Gallon." - -"Tell the gentleman----" she had begun; but before she could go further -with her instructions George Gallon himself had entered the room. - -"Well, Miss Carthew," he said, "I heard from an unexpected source that -you were here, swaggering about as the widow of a French Comte. I -needed a little holiday, and so I ran out to see whether you were a -greater success as a Comtesse than you were as a typewriter in my -office. Oh! I beg your pardon. You're not alone. I'm afraid I may -have surprised your friend with some disagreeable news." - -"Not at all," said Justin Wentworth calmly. "Miss Carthew has not only -told me of that episode in her life, but how it became necessary for her -to take up the position of a typewriter. Your treatment of her seemed -almost incredible--until I saw you. No wonder it was necessary for Miss -Carthew to adopt an _alias_, if this is the sort of persecution she is -subject to under her own name. But in future it will be different. As -Lady Wentworth she will be safe even from cads like you; and though she -is not yet my wife, I'm thankful to say I have even now the right to -protect her. When do you intend to leave Biarritz, Mr. Gallon?" - -[Illustration: "'When do you intend to leave Biarritz?'"] - -George opened his lips furiously, but snapped them shut again. Then, -having paused to reflect, he said: "I am here only for an hour. I'm -going on to Spain." - -"Pray watch over your tongue in that hour," returned Wentworth. - -Then George Gallon was gone. - -"I'll worship you all my life on my knees," said Joan. "I'm not worthy -to touch your hand. But I will be. I will be a new self." - -"Only the best of the old one, that is all I want," answered her lover. -"The past is like a garment which you wore for protection against the -storm. But there will be no more storms after this." - -"Because you have forgiven me, because you believe in me," cried Joan, -"you will make of me the woman you would have me!" - -"The woman you really are, or I would not have loved you," he said. - -And so it was that Joan Carthew's career ended and her life began. - - - - - Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London. - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL WHO HAD NOTHING *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39730 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the <a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a> -included with this eBook or online at -<a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a>.</p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="noindent vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container noindent white-space-pre-line" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst white-space-pre-line"><span class="white-space-pre-line">Title: The Girl Who Had Nothing<br /> -<br /> -Author: Mrs. C. N. Williamson<br /> -<br /> -Release Date: May 18, 2012 [EBook #39730]<br /> -<br /> -Language: English<br /> -<br /> -Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="noindent vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line">*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK <span>THE GIRL WHO HAD NOTHING</span> ***</p> <div class="noindent vspace" style="height: 4em"> </div> <p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> @@ -5571,347 +5544,6 @@ ended and her life began.</p> <!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> <div class="backmatter"> </div> -<p class="pfirst" id="pg-end-line">*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK <span>THE GIRL WHO HAD NOTHING</span> ***</p> -<div class="cleardoublepage"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="language-en level-2 pgfooter section" id="a-word-from-project-gutenberg" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<span id="pg-footer"></span><h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title">A Word from Project Gutenberg</h2> -<p class="pfirst">We will update this book if we find any errors.</p> -<p class="pnext">This book can be found under: <a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39730"><span>http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39730</span></a></p> -<p class="pnext">Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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-.. meta::
- :PG.Id: 39730
- :PG.Title: The Girl Who Had Nothing
- :PG.Released: 2012-05-18
- :PG.Rights: Public Domain
- :PG.Producer: Al Haines
- :DC.Creator: Mrs. C. N. Williamson
- :MARCREL.ill: John Cameron
- :DC.Title: The Girl Who Had Nothing
- :DC.Language: en
- :DC.Created: 1905
- :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg
-
-========================
-THE GIRL WHO HAD NOTHING
-========================
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- THE GIRL WHO HAD NOTHING
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- By
-
- MRS. C. N. WILLIAMSON
-
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- .. class:: center small
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- AUTHOR OF "THE LIGHTNING CONDUCTOR," ETC.
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- *ILLUSTRATIONS BY JOHN CAMERON*
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- LONDON
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- WARD LOCK & CO LIMITED
-
- 1905
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-.. contents:: CONTENTS
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-.. vspace: 4
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-CHAPTER I--The Old Lady in the Victoria
-=======================================
-
-Joan Carthew had reason to believe
-that it was her birthday, and she had
-signalised the occasion by running away
-from home. But her birthday, and her
-home, and her running away, were all so
-different from things with the same name
-in the lives of other children, that the
-celebration was not in reality as festive as it might
-seem if put into print.
-
-In the first place, she based her theory as
-to the date solely upon a dim recollection
-that once, eons of years ago, when she had
-been a petted little creature with belongings
-of her own (she was now twelve), there had
-been presents and sweets on the 13th of
-May. She thought she could recall looking
-eagerly forward to that anniversary; and
-she argued shrewdly that, as her assortment
-of agreeable memories was small, in all
-likelihood she had not made a mistake.
-
-In the second place, Joan's home was a
-Brighton lodging-house, where she was a
-guest of the landlady, and not a "paying"
-guest, as she was frequently reminded. In
-that vague time, eons ago, she had been left
-at the house by her mother (who was, it
-seemed, an actress), with a sum of money
-large enough to pay for her keep until that
-lady's return from touring, at the end of the
-theatrical season. The end of the season
-and the end of the money had come about
-the same time, but not the expected mother.
-The beautiful Mrs. Carthew, whose
-professional name was Marie Lanchester,
-had never reappeared, never written.
-Mrs. Boyle had made inquiries, advertised, and
-spent many shillings on theatrical papers,
-but had been able to learn nothing.
-Mr. Carthew was a vague shadow in a mysterious
-background, less substantial even than a
-"walking gentleman," and Mrs. Boyle,
-feeling herself a much injured woman, had in
-her first passion of resentment boxed Joan's
-ears and threatened to send the "brat" to
-the poorhouse. But the child was in her
-seventh year and beginning to be useful. She
-liked running up and downstairs to answer
-the lodgers' bells, which saved steps for the
-two overworked servants; and, of course,
-when she became a financial burden instead
-of the means of lightening burdens, it was
-discovered that she could do many other
-things with equal ease and propriety. She
-could clean boots and knives, wash dishes,
-help make beds, and carry trays; she
-could also be slapped for misdeeds of her
-own and those of others, an act which
-afforded invariable relief to the landlady's
-feelings. As years went on, further spheres
-of usefulness opened, especially after the
-Boyle baby came; one servant could be
-kept instead of two; and taking
-everything into consideration, Joan's hostess
-decided to continue her charity. Therefore,
-the child could have answered the
-conundrum, "When is a home not a home?"
-out of the stores of her intimate experience.
-
-In the third place, she had only run away
-as far as one of the shelters on the Marine
-Parade; she had brought the landlady's
-baby with her, and, lurking grimly in the
-recesses of her mind, she had the virtuous
-intention of going home again when Minnie
-should be hungry enough to cry, at tea-time.
-
-Joan was telling the two-year-old Minnie
-a fairy story, made up out of her own head,
-all about a gorgeous princess, and founded
-on the adventures she herself would best
-like to have, when, just as the narrative was
-working towards an exciting climax, a girl
-of Joan's own age came in sight, walking
-with her governess.
-
-The story broke off short between Joan's
-little white teeth, which suddenly shut
-together with a click. This did not signify
-much, as far as the Boyle baby was
-concerned, for Joan unconsciously wove fairy
-tales more for her own pleasure than that
-of her companion, and as a matter of fact
-the warmth of the afternoon sunshine had
-acted as "juice of poppy and mandragora"
-upon Minnie's brain. Her small, primrose-yellow
-head was nodding, and she was
-unaware that the story had ended abruptly just
-as the princess was beguiling the dragon, and
-that a girl almost as fine as the princess
-herself was approaching.
-
-The new-comer was about twelve or
-thirteen, and she was more exquisitely dressed
-than any child Joan remembered to have
-met. Perhaps, if the apparition had been
-a good deal younger or older, the
-lodging-house drudge would not have observed so
-keenly, or realised with a quick stab of
-passionate pain the illimitable gulf dividing
-lives. But here was a girl of her own age,
-her own height, her own needs and capacities,
-and yet--the difference!
-
-It struck her like a thrust of some thin,
-delicate surgical instrument which could
-inflict anguish, yet leave no trace. Joan's
-whole life was spent in dreaming; without
-the dreams, existence at 12, Seafoam Terrace
-would not have been tolerable to a young
-creature with the nerves of a racehorse and
-the imagination of a Scheherazade. She
-lived practically a double life within herself,
-but never until this moment had she been
-consciously jealous of the happier fate of a
-fellow-creature.
-
-In looking from the shelter where she
-sat in shadow, at the other girl who walked
-in sunshine, she knew the crunching pain
-of the monster's fangs.
-
-The other girl had long, fair hair; she
-wore white muslin, foaming with lace frills,
-white silk stockings, and shoes of white
-suede. Her face was shaded by a great,
-rose-crowned, leghorn hat, which flopped
-into soft curves and made a picture of small
-features which without it might have seemed
-insignificant. The magnetism that was in
-Joan Carthew's eyes forced the girl to turn
-and throw a glance as she passed at
-the shabby child in faded brown serge (a
-frock altered from a discarded one of
-Mrs. Boyle's) who sat huddled in the shelter, with
-a tawdrily dressed baby asleep by her side.
-The glance had all the primitive, merciless
-disdain of a sleek, fortunate young animal
-for a miserable, hunted one, and Joan felt
-the meaning of it in her soul.
-
-"Why should she have everything and I
-nothing?" was the old-new question which
-shaped itself wordlessly in the child's brain.
-"She looks at me as if I were a rat. I'm
-not a rat! I'm as good as she is, if I had
-her clothes. I'm cleverer, and prettier, too,
-I know I am--heaps and heaps. Oh! I
-want to be like her, only better--I must be--I shall!"
-
-She quivered with the fierceness of her
-revolt against fate, yet in it was no vulgar
-jealousy. The other girl's pale blue eyes,
-in one contemptuous glance, had found
-every patch on her frock and shoes, had
-criticised her old hat, and sneered at her
-little, rough, work-worn hands, scorning her
-for them as if she were a creature of an
-inferior race; but Joan had no personal
-hatred for the happier child, no wish for
-revenge, no desire to take from the other
-what she had. The feeling which shook
-her with sudden, stormy passion was merely
-the sharp realisation of injustice, the
-conviction that by nature she herself was worthy
-of the good things she had missed, the savage
-resolve to have what she ought to have, at
-any cost.
-
-It was not tea-time yet, and Minnie was
-happily asleep; Joan was certain to be
-scolded just as sharply on her return as if
-she had stopped away for hours longer,
-therefore she might as well have drained her
-birthday cup of stolen pleasure to the dregs;
-but the good taste of the draught was gone.
-She yearned only to go home, to get the
-scolding over, and to have a few minutes
-to herself in the tiny back room which she
-shared with the baby. There seemed to
-be much to think of, much to decide.
-
-The child waked Minnie, who was cross
-at being roused, and refused to walk. The
-quickest way of triumphing over the
-difficulty was to carry her, and this method
-Joan promptly adopted. But the baby was
-heavy and fractious. She wriggled in her
-young nurse's grasp, and just as Joan had
-staggered round the corner of Seafoam
-Terrace, with her disproportionate burden, she
-tripped and fell, under the windows of No. 12.
-
-Minnie roared, and there was an echoing
-shriek from the house. Mrs. Boyle, who
-had been looking up and down the street
-in angry quest of her missing drudge, saw
-the catastrophe and rushed to the rescue of
-her offspring. She snatched the baby, who
-was more frightened than hurt, and holding
-her by one arm, proceeded to administer
-chastisement to Joan.
-
-Instinctively she knew that the girl was
-sensitive and proud, though she had no kindred
-feelings in her own soul, and she delighted
-in humiliating her drudge before the whole
-street. As she screamed reproaches and
-harsh names, raining a shower of blows on
-Joan's ears and head and burning cheeks, a
-face appeared in at least one window of
-each house along the Terrace. Though a
-cataract of sparks cascaded before the child's
-eyes, somehow she saw the faces and imagined
-a dozen for every one.
-
-The shame seemed to her beyond bearing.
-She forgot even her love for the baby, which
-(with the dreams) was the bright thread in
-the dull fabric of her existence. After this
-martyrdom, she neither could nor would
-live on in Seafoam Terrace, which with all
-its eyes had seen her beaten like a dog.
-
-"Into the house with you, you lazy,
-good-for-nothing brat!" panted Mrs. Boyle, when
-her hand was tired of smiting; and with a
-push, she would have urged the girl towards
-the open front door, but Joan turned
-suddenly and faced her.
-
-"No!" she cried, "I won't be your
-servant any more! I've done with you. I
-will never go into your hateful house again,
-until I come back as a grand lady you will
-have to bow down to and worship."
-
-These were grandiloquent words, and
-Mrs. Boyle would either have laughed with a
-coarse sneer, or struck Joan again for her
-impudence, had not the look in the child's
-great eyes actually cowed her for the moment.
-In that moment the thin girl of twelve, whom
-she had beaten, seemed to grow very tall
-and wonderfully beautiful; and in the next,
-she had gone like a whirlwind which comes
-and passes before it has been realised.
-
-Joan was desperate. Her newly formed
-ambition and her stinging shame mounted
-like frothing wine to her hot brain. She
-was in a mood to kill herself--or make her fortune.
-
-For a time she flew on blindly, neither
-knowing nor caring which way she went.
-By and by, as breath and strength failed,
-she ran more slowly, then settled into a
-quick, unsteady walk. She was on the
-front, running in the direction of Hove, and
-in the distance a handsome victoria with
-two horses was coming. The sun shone on
-the silver harness and the horses' satin
-backs. There was a coachman and a groom
-in livery, and in the carriage sat an old lady
-dressed in grey silk, of the same soft tint as
-her hair.
-
-Joan had seen this old lady in her victoria
-several times before, and had pretended to
-herself, in one of her glittering dreams, that
-the lady took a fancy to her and proposed
-adoption.
-
-Now, in a flash of thought, which came
-quick as the glint of light on a bird's wing,
-the child told herself that this thing must
-happen. She had no home, no people,
-nothing; she would stake her life on the one
-throw which might win all or lose all.
-
-Without stopping to be afraid, or to argue
-whether she were brave or foolhardy, she
-ran forward and threw herself in front of the
-horses. The coachman pulled them up so
-sharply that the splendid pair plunged,
-almost falling back on to the victoria, but
-he was not quick enough to save the child
-one blow on the shoulder from an iron-shod hoof.
-
-In an instant the groom was in the road
-and had snatched her up, with a few gruff
-words which Joan dimly heard and
-understood, although she had just enough
-consciousness left to feign unconsciousness.
-
-"How dreadful! how dreadful!" the old
-lady was exclaiming. "You must put the
-poor little thing in the carriage, and I'll
-drive to the nearest doctor's."
-
-"Better let me take her in a cab to a
-hospital, my lady," advised the groom. "It
-wasn't our fault. She ran under the horses'
-feet. Tomkins and me can both swear to that."
-
-The arbitress of Joan's fate appeared to
-hesitate, and the child thought best to
-revive enough to open her eyes (which she
-knew to be large and soft as a fawn's) for
-one imploring glance. In the fall which had
-caused her to drop the Boyle baby, she had
-grazed her forehead against a lamp-post,
-and on the small, white face there remained
-a stain of blood which was effective at this
-juncture. She started, put out her hand,
-and groped for the old lady's dress, at which
-she caught as a drowning man is said to
-catch at a straw.
-
-"On second thoughts, I will take her
-home, if she can tell me where she lives.
-She seems to be reviving," said the
-lady. "Where do you live, my poor little girl?"
-
-"I--don't live anywhere," gasped Joan,
-white-lipped. "I haven't any mother or
-any home, or anything. I wanted to die."
-
-"Oh, you poor little pitiful thing! What
-a sad story!" crooned the old lady. "You
-shall go to *my* home, and stop till you get
-well, and I will buy you a doll and lots of
-nice toys."
-
-The rapidly recovering Joan determined
-that, once in the old lady's house, she would
-stop long after she had got well, and that
-she would, sooner or later, have many things
-better than toys. But she smiled gratefully,
-faintly, looking like a broken flower.
-The groom was directed to place her on
-the seat, in a reclining posture, and she was
-given the old lady's silk-covered air-cushion
-to rest her head upon. She really ached
-in every bone, but she was exaggerating
-her sufferings, saying to herself: "It's come!
-I've walked right into the fairy story, and
-nothing shall make me walk out again.
-I've got nobody to look after me, so I'll
-have to look after myself and be my own
-mamma. I can't help it, whether it's right
-or wrong. I don't know much about right
-and wrong, anyhow, so I shan't bother.
-I've got to grow up a grand, rich lady; my
-chance has come, and I'd be silly not to
-take it."
-
-Having thus disposed of her conscience--such
-as her wretched life had made it--Joan
-proceeded to faint again, as picturesquely as
-possible. Her pretty little head, rippling
-over with thick, gold-brown hair, fell on
-the grey silk shoulder and gave the kindly,
-rather foolish old heart underneath a warm,
-protecting thrill. The child's features were
-lovely, and her lashes very long and dark.
-If she had been ugly, or even plain, in spite
-of her appealing ways, Lady Thorndyke (the
-widow of a rich City knight) would probably
-have agreed to the groom's suggestion; but
-Joan did not overestimate her own charms
-and their power. A quarter of a century
-ago Lady Thorndyke had lost a little girl
-about the age of this pathetic waif, and she
-had had no other child. There was a nephew
-on the Stock Exchange, but Lady Thorndyke
-was interested in him merely because she
-thought it her duty, though he had been
-brought up to take it for granted that he
-would be her heir. In truth, the lonely
-woman had half unconsciously sighed all
-her life for romance and for love. She had
-never had much of either, and now, in this
-tragic child who clung to her and would
-not be denied, there was promise of both.
-
-So Joan was borne in supreme spiritual
-triumph and slight bodily pain to the big,
-old-fashioned Brighton house where her new
-protectress spent the greater part of the year. She
-was put into a bed which smelled of lavender
-and felt like a soft, warm cloud; she went
-through the ordeal of being examined by a
-doctor, knowing that her whole future might
-depend upon his verdict. She lay sick
-and quivering with a thumping heart, lest
-he should say: "This child is perfectly
-well, except for a bruise and a scratch or
-two. There is nothing to prevent her being
-sent home." But in her anxiety Joan had
-worked herself into a fever. The doctor
-was a fat, comfortable man, with children
-of his own, and the escaped drudge could
-have worshipped him when he announced
-that she was in a highly nervous state, and
-would be better for a few days' rest, good
-nursing, and nourishing food.
-
-She had arnica and plasters externally,
-and internally beef-tea. Then she told her
-story. Had it been necessary, Joan would
-have plunged into a sea of fiction, but she
-had enough dramatic sense to perceive that
-nothing could be more effective than the
-truth, dashed in with plenty of colour.
-
-Joan's memory was as vivid as her
-imagination. She was fired to eloquence by her
-own wrongs; and her word-sketch of the
-poor baby deserted by a beautiful, mysterious
-actress, her picturesque conjectures as to
-that actress's noble husband, the harrowing
-portrait of her angelic young self as a
-lodging-house drudge, the final climax, painting
-the savage punishment in the street, and
-her resolve to seek refuge in death (the one
-fabrication in the tale), affected the secretly
-sentimental heart of the City knight's widow
-like music.
-
-"I would rather have been trampled to
-death under your horses' feet than go
-back!" sobbed the child.
-
-"Don't be frightened and excite yourself,
-my poor, pretty little dear," Lady
-Thorndyke soothed her. "No harm shall come
-to you, I promise that."
-
-Joan's instinctive tact had been sharpened
-to diplomacy by the constant need of
-self-defence. She said no more; she only looked;
-and her eyes were like those of a wounded
-deer which begs its life of the hunter.
-
-Lady Thorndyke began to turn over various
-schemes for Joan's advantage; but that
-same evening, which was Saturday, her
-nephew, George Gallon, arrived from town
-to spend Sunday with his aunt. She told
-him somewhat timidly about the lovely
-child she was sheltering, and the
-hard-mouthed, square-chinned young man threw
-cold water on her projects. He said that
-the girl was no doubt a designing little
-minx, who richly deserved what she had
-got from the charitable if quick-tempered
-woman who gave her a home. He advised
-his aunt to be rid of the young viper as soon
-as possible, and meanwhile to leave the
-care of her entirely to servants.
-
-His strong nature impressed itself upon
-Lady Thorndyke's weak one, as red-hot
-iron cauterises tender flesh. She believed
-all he said while he was with her, and
-conceived a distrust of Joan; but Gallon had
-an important deal on in the City for Monday,
-and was obliged to leave early, having
-extracted a half-promise from his aunt that
-the intruder should go forth that day, or
-at latest the next.
-
-He had not seen Joan Carthew, and
-therefore had not reckoned on her strength and
-fascination as forces powerful enough to
-fence with his influence.
-
-Joan felt the difference in her patroness's
-manner, as a swallow feels the coming of a
-storm. She knew that there had been a
-visitor, and she guessed what had happened.
-She grew cold with the chill of presentiment,
-but gathered herself together for a
-fight to the death.
-
-"You look much better this morning, my
-dear," began Lady Thorndyke nervously.
-"You will perhaps be well enough to get up
-and be dressed by and by, to drive out with
-me, and choose yourself a doll, or anything
-you would like. You will be glad to hear
-that--that my nephew and I called on
-Mrs. Boyle yesterday, and--she is sorry if
-she was harsh. In future, you will not be
-living on her charity. I shall give her a
-small yearly sum for your board and clothing.
-You will be sent to school, as you ought to
-have been long ago, and really I don't see
-how she managed to avoid this duty. But
-in any case you will be happy."
-
-Joan turned over on her face, and the bed
-shuddered with her tearing sobs. She was
-not really crying. The crisis was too tense
-for tears.
-
-"Don't, dear, don't," pleaded Lady Thorndyke,
-feeling horribly guilty. "I will see
-you sometimes, and----"
-
-"See me sometimes!" echoed the child.
-"You are the only person who has ever
-been kind to me. I can't live without you
-now. I won't try. Oh, it was cruel to
-bring me here and show me what happiness
-could be, just to drive me away again into
-the dark!"
-
-"But----" the distressed old lady had
-begun to stammer, when the child slipped
-out of bed and fell at her protectress's feet.
-
-"Keep me with you!" she implored.
-"I'll be your servant. I'll live in the kitchen.
-I'll eat what your dog eats. Only let me stay."
-
-She wound her slim, childish arms round
-Lady Thorndyke's waist, her eyes streamed
-with tears at last; her beautiful hair curled
-piteously over the grey-silk lap. She
-was at that moment a great actress, for
-though she was honestly grateful, she neither
-wished nor intended to live in the kitchen
-and eat what the dog ate. She would be a
-child of the house or she would be nothing.
-Her beauty, her despair, and her humility
-were irresistible. Lady Thorndyke forgot
-George Gallon and clasped the child in her
-arms, crying in sympathy. "If you care
-so much, dear, how can I let you go?" she
-whimpered.
-
-"I care enough to die for you, or to die
-if I lose you!" Joan vowed.
-
-"You shall not die, and you shall not
-lose me!" exclaimed the old lady,
-remembering her nephew now and defying him.
-"You shall stay and be my little girl."
-
-Joan did stay. Before the week ended,
-and another visit from George Gallon was
-due, she had so entwined herself round Lady
-Thorndyke's heart that the rather cowardly
-old woman had courage to face her nephew
-with the news that she meant to keep the
-waif whom "Providence had sent her."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER II--The Old Lady's Nephew
-=================================
-
-At first there was no question of formal
-adoption. Joan simply stayed on and
-was allowed to feel that she had a right to
-stay. Gallon did all he could to oust her, for
-his mind had telescopic power and brought
-the future near. He feared the girl, but he
-dared not actually offend his aunt, lest he
-should lose at once what he wished to
-safeguard himself against losing later.
-
-The child made Lady Thorndyke happier
-than she had ever been. Her presence created
-sunshine. She was never naughty like other
-children; she was never sulky nor disagreeable.
-A governess was procured for her,
-a mild, common-place lady whom Joan
-despised and astonished with her progress.
-"I was born knowing a lot of things which
-she could never learn," the little girl told
-herself scornfully. But she did not despise
-George Gallon, whom she occasionally saw,
-nor did she exactly fear him, because she
-believed that she would be able to hold
-her own in case the day ever came for a
-second contest, as she foresaw it would.
-
-When she had learned all that the
-governess knew, and rather more besides, she was
-sent to a boarding-school in Paris to be
-"finished." After her first term, she came
-back to Brighton for the Christmas holidays,
-so grown up, so beautiful, and so
-distinguished that Lady Thorndyke was very
-proud. "What shall I give you for
-Christmas, my dear?" she asked. "A diamond ring?"
-
-Joan kissed her withered leaf of a hand.
-
-"If you love me," she said, "give me
-the right to call myself your daughter.
-That is the one thing in the world you have
-left me hungry for. Will you adopt me,
-so that I can feel I am your own, own child?
-Think what it would be if any one ever
-claimed me and took me away from you!"
-
-Joan's love was not all a pretence. She
-would have been a monster if it had been,
-instead of the mere girl of seventeen she was,
-with a large nature, and capacities for good
-which had been stunted and turned the wrong
-way. But the vicissitudes of life had taught
-her to be even more observant than she was
-critical, and she knew as well how to manage
-Lady Thorndyke as if the kind old creature
-had been a marionette, worked with strings.
-It was not necessary to let her benefactress
-know all that was in her mind, nor how she
-had calculated that to be the rich woman's
-legally adopted daughter ought to mean
-being her heiress as well. While she pleaded
-to be Lady Thorndyke's "own, own child,"
-she was saying to herself: "I will make a
-good deal better use of the money than that
-hateful George Gallon would."
-
-No normal young man, and no sentimental
-old lady, could have doubted the
-disinterestedness of a girl with eyes like Joan
-Carthew's. Lady Thorndyke was delighted
-with the dear child's affection, and promptly
-sent for her lawyer to talk over the matter
-of a formal adoption. She also announced
-her intention of altering her will, and
-leaving only twenty thousand pounds to her
-nephew, the bulk of her property to Joan,
-"who would no doubt be greatly surprised."
-
-Thinking it but fair that George should
-be prepared for this change in his prospects,
-she told him what she intended to do, in the
-presence of a friend, lest there should be
-a scene.
-
-There was no scene, for George was a
-sensible man, and saw that a little butter on his
-bread was better than none. But he hated
-Joan, and respected her at the same time
-because she had triumphed. He was not
-quite beaten yet, however. He had a talk,
-which he hoped sounded manly and frank,
-with his young rival, told Joan that he bore
-her no grudge, and paid her a compliment.
-When she went back to school, flowers and
-sweets began to arrive from "Cousin George";
-and the girl saw the game he was playing
-and smiled.
-
-When she came home for Easter, he
-proposed. He got her on a balcony, by
-moonlight, where he said that he had loved her
-for years, and could not wait any longer to
-speak out what was in his heart.
-
-"Your heart!" laughed Joan, with all
-the insolence of a beautiful, spoiled young
-heiress of eighteen, who has pined for
-revenge upon a hated man, and got it at
-last. "Your heart!" It was delicious to
-throw policy to the wind for once and be
-frankly herself. She was thoroughly enjoying
-the situation, as she stood with the pure
-radiance of the moonlight shining down
-upon her bright head and her white, filmy
-gown. "What a fool you must think me,
-Mr. Gallon! It's your pockets you would
-have me fill, not your heart. I acknowledge
-I have owed you a debt for a long time,
-but it's not a debt of love. When I was a
-forlorn, friendless child, you tried to turn
-me out into the cold; and if I hadn't been
-stronger than you, you would have succeeded.
-Instead, it was I who did that. I've
-always meant to pay, for I hate debts. No,
-I will not marry you. No; nothing that
-your aunt means to give me shall be yours.
-Now I have paid, and we are quits."
-
-.. _`"'No, I will not marry you.'"`:
-
-.. figure:: images/img-040.jpg
- :align: center
- :alt: "'No, I will not marry you.'"
-
- "'No, I will not marry you.'"
-
-
-George Gallon was cold with fury. "Don't
-be too sure," he said in his harsh voice,
-which Joan had always hated. "They laugh
-best who laugh last."
-
-"I know that," the girl retorted; and
-passing him to go indoors, where Lady
-Thorndyke dozed after dinner, she threw
-over her shoulder a laugh to spice her words.
-
-The next day she went back to school,
-pleased with herself and what she had done,
-for she was no longer in the least afraid of
-George Gallon.
-
-Some things are in the air. It was in
-the air at school that Joan would be a great
-heiress. The girls were very nice to her,
-and Joan enjoyed their flatteries, though
-she saw through them and made no intimate
-friends. When in June, shortly before the
-coming of the summer holidays, the girl was
-telegraphed for, because Lady Thorndyke
-had had a paralytic stroke and was dying,
-there was a sensation in the school. Of
-course, as Joan would now inherit something
-like a million, she would not return, but
-after her time of mourning would come out
-in Society, well chaperoned, be presented,
-and probably marry at least a viscount.
-The other girls were nicer than ever; tears
-were shed over her, and farewell presents bestowed.
-
-When Joan arrived in England, Lady
-Thorndyke was dead, and the girl was sad,
-for she realised how well she had loved her
-benefactress. After the funeral came the
-reading of the will. The dead woman's
-adopted daughter, the servants, and George
-Gallon were the only persons present besides
-the lawyer. Joan's heart scarcely quickened
-its beating, for she was absolutely confident.
-Any surprise which might come could be
-merely a matter of a few thousands more or
-less. She sat leaning back in an armchair,
-very calm and beautiful in her deep
-mourning. George Gallon's eyes never left her
-face, and they lit as at last she lifted her
-head, with bewilderment on the suddenly
-paling face.
-
-There had been a few bequests to servants
-and to a favourite charity. Everything else
-which Lady Thorndyke died possessed of
-was left unconditionally to her nephew,
-George Gallon. There was no mention of
-Joan Carthew. The will was dated ten
-years before. Lady Thorndyke had put off
-making the new one, and death had
-rendered the delay irrevocable. Joan Carthew
-had not a penny in the world; save for her
-education, her clothes, and the memory of
-six happy years, she was no better off than
-on the day when she threw herself under
-Lady Thorndyke's carriage.
-
-.. _`"Joan Carthew had not a penny in the world."`:
-
-.. figure:: images/img-042.jpg
- :align: center
- :alt: "Joan Carthew had not a penny in the world."
-
- "Joan Carthew had not a penny in the world."
-
-
-At first she could not believe that it was
-true. It was like having rolled a heavy stone
-almost to the top of an incredibly steep hill,
-to find oneself suddenly at the bottom,
-crushed under the stone. But the solicitor's
-stilted sympathy, and the look in George
-Gallon's eyes, which said: "Now perhaps
-you are sorry for having made a fool of
-yourself," brought her roughly face to face with
-the truth. At the same time she was
-stimulated. The words, the look, braced her
-to assume courage, if she had it not.
-
-She was down--very far down; but she
-was young, she was beautiful, she was brave,
-and life had early taught her to be unscrupulous.
-The world was, after all, an oyster;
-she would open it yet somehow and make it
-hers; this was a vow.
-
-When the solicitor had gone, George
-remained. The house was his house now.
-
-"What do you intend to do?" he inquired.
-
-"I have my plans," Joan answered.
-
-In the man's veins stirred a curious thrill,
-which was something like dread. The girl
-was wonderful, and formidable still, not to
-be despised. He half feared her, yet he
-could not resist the temptation to humiliate
-the creature who had laughed at him.
-
-"It is a pity you never learned anything
-useful, like typing and shorthand," said he
-patronisingly. "If you had, I would have
-taken you into our office as secretary. There's
-two pounds a week in the job, and that's
-better than the wages of a nursery governess,
-which, in the circumstances, you will, no
-doubt, be thankful to get. After what has
-passed between us, you would hardly care,
-I suppose, to accept charity from me, even
-if I were inclined to offer it."
-
-"I would take no favour from you," said
-Joan, in an odd, excited voice. "But I
-*will* accept that secretaryship; you'll find
-me competent."
-
-George stared. "You don't know what
-you are talking about. You have no
-knowledge of typing or shorthand."
-
-"I am expert in both. I thought, as a
-woman with large property, the accomplishments
-might be useful to me, and I insisted
-on taking them up at school instead of one
-or two others more classical but not as
-practical."
-
-"You would actually come and work in
-my office, almost as a menial, on a salary
-of two pounds a week, while I enjoy the
-million you expected would be yours?"
-
-"Beggars mustn't be choosers," returned
-Joan, drily. "You don't withdraw the offer?"
-
-"No-o," replied George slowly, doubtful
-whether his scheme of humiliation had been
-quite wise, yet finding a certain pleasure
-in it still. "The girl's expression is queer,"
-he said to himself. "She looks as if she
-had something up her sleeve."
-
-He was right. Joan had something "up
-her sleeve," something too small to be visible,
-yet large enough, perhaps, to be the seed of
-fortune.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER III--A Deal in Clerios
-==============================
-
-George Gallon had lately left a
-well-known firm of stockbrokers, in
-which he had been junior partner, and set
-up business on his own account. He had
-started at a trying time, about the close of
-the Boer war, when the financial world was
-in a state of depression; but he had since
-brought off two or three *coups* for his clients
-and himself, and though he was unpopular, he
-had begun to be talked of among a limited
-circle in the City as a man who would succeed.
-
-Joan Carthew had heard "George's luck"
-discussed by guests at Lady Thorndyke's,
-when she had been at home from school on
-her holidays; therefore it was that she had
-so promptly accepted the offer thrown to
-her in derision, as a bone is flung to a chained
-dog. "If I keep my eyes and ears open, I
-shall get tips," was the thought that flashed
-into her mind.
-
-If Joan had been an ordinary eighteen-year-old
-girl, she would have faltered before
-the difficulty of turning such "tips" to her
-own advantage, on a salary of two pounds a
-week; but she would not have entered George
-Gallon's service if she had been one to falter
-before difficulties; and three days after
-the reading of the will which left the girl a
-pensioner on her own wits, she presented
-herself at the office in Copthall Court.
-
-It was early, and Gallon had not yet arrived.
-However, his curiosity to see whether Joan
-would really keep her engagement brought
-him to the City half an hour earlier than
-usual. When he came in, there sat at an
-inner office, at the desk used by his late
-stenographer, a young woman plainly dressed
-in black, though not in mourning deep
-enough to depress the spirits of the beholder.
-
-It was Joan Carthew. She had already
-taken off her hat and hung it on a peg.
-Gallon noticed instantly that her beautiful
-golden-brown hair was dressed more simply
-than he had seen it. Every detail of her
-costume was suited to the new part she was
-about to play--that of the business woman.
-
-"Good morning, Mr. Gallon," she said
-crisply. "Your head clerk told me this
-would be my desk. I have brought my
-own typewriter. I hope you don't mind.
-You know, from the test you made the other
-day, that I take down quickly from dictation,
-and that my typing is clear. I am ready to
-begin work whenever you are."
-
-"Glad to find you so businesslike," said
-Gallon, uncomfortable in spite of himself,
-though there was a keen relish in the situation.
-
-"You will, I hope, never find me anything
-else," quietly replied Joan.
-
-So the new *régime* began. At first, for
-some days, the man was ill at ease, could
-not collect his thoughts for dictation, and
-stammered in his speech. He regretted that
-his desire to humiliate the girl had tempted
-him to offer this position; but Joan's attitude
-was so tactful, so unobtrusive, that little
-by little he forgot his awkwardness and
-even the meanness of his motive in making
-her his dependent. He almost forgot that
-he had ever asked her to marry him; and
-because he found her astonishingly clever
-and useful, he waived the idea of further
-insults which had flitted through his head
-when first the dethroned heiress became
-his secretary.
-
-One autumn morning, Gallon was late.
-Joan sat waiting in his office, and had opened
-such correspondence as was not marked
-"Private," had typed several letters ready
-for her employer's signature, and having
-no more business which could be transacted
-until he appeared, began to glance through
-an illustrated Society weekly which she
-took in. This paper she always read with
-eagerness; not because she had the morbid
-interest of an outsider in the doings of Society,
-with a capital S, but because any information
-she could glean about important people
-might be of service in the career to which
-she undauntedly looked forward.
-
-On one page of this particular paper,
-country houses, electric-launches, libraries,
-motor-cars, and even family jewels were
-advertised; and it was an absorbing page
-to Joan. To-day she gazed long at the
-reproduction of a handsome steam-yacht,
-which for some weeks past had been advertised
-for sale, for the sum of twelve thousand
-pounds. Only a few months ago, she had been
-planning to have some day a yacht of her
-own. It had been one of the many pleasant
-things she had meant to do with Lady
-Thorndyke's money.
-
-"I shouldn't mind owning the *Titania*, if
-she's as good as her photograph," the girl was
-thinking, when George Gallon and a fat,
-foreign-looking man came in.
-
-"You can go back into the next room,
-Miss Carthew," said George, abruptly. "I
-shall not need you at present, and you may
-tell them outside that I am not to be disturbed."
-
-Joan rose and walked into the outer office,
-where the three clerks, who were all more or
-less in love with the beautiful secretary,
-glanced up joyfully from their work at
-sight of her. The youngest, whose desk
-was close to the door, had already proposed.
-He was a dreamy youth with a fluffy brain,
-but his father was a rich man known in the
-City as "the Salmon King," who cherished
-hopes that one day his son would cut a
-figure on the Stock Exchange. These family
-details the young man had confided to Joan
-as a lure to matrimony, and though she had
-answered that he was a "foolish boy," and
-nothing was farther from her intention than
-to settle down as Mrs. Tommy Mellis, she had
-not in so many words refused the honour.
-
-Now she whispered a request that, if he
-had still a regard for her, he would slip away
-and buy a box of chocolates, for the need
-of which she was perishing. A moment
-later Tommy was out of his chair, and Joan
-was in it. His was the one seat in the room
-where conversation in Gallon's private office
-could by any means be overheard; and
-Gallon was aware that whatever might go
-in at Tommy's right ear promptly went out
-at the left, without leaving the smallest
-impression of its meaning.
-
-"Is the deal certain to come off?" she
-heard George inquire.
-
-"Sure as the sun is to rise to-morrow,"
-replied another voice with a foreign accent.
-"You are the only outsider in the know.
-That's worth something, isn't it?"
-
-"It's worth what I've promised for it."
-
-"At least that. And I want an advance to-day."
-
-"In such a hurry? Remember I shan't make
-anything, or be sure you haven't fooled me,
-for weeks. Still, I can manage a hundred."
-
-"I need ten times that."
-
-"You'll have it the day the Clerios are taken over."
-
-"'Sh! not so loud! And no names, for
-Heaven's sake, man!"
-
-"Oh, that's all right. The clerk near
-the door is a fool. The only one out there
-with any real brains is a girl, but she doesn't
-know the difference between Clerios and
-clerics. That's why I employ a woman for
-a secretary. She spends her spare energy
-on the fashions, and doesn't bother about
-things which are none of her business."
-
-In spite of this protest, Gallon dropped
-his voice. Only a word here and there
-started out of the broken murmurs on the
-other side of the door; but one more sentence,
-almost whole, came to her ears. "Grierson
-Mordaunt ... sort of chap ... carries these
-things through." Then reappeared Tommy
-with the chocolates, and Joan went to her
-own desk; but the stray bits of information
-were as flint and steel in her brain, and
-together they struck out a spark of inspiration.
-She was as sure as if she had heard all details
-of the transaction that the World's Shipping
-Combine, of which the American millionaire,
-Grierson Mordaunt, stood at the head, had
-arranged to take over the Clerio line of
-Italian boats plying between Mediterranean
-ports. The fat man with the foreign accent
-was no doubt the confidential agent of the
-Italian company, and being acquainted with
-George Gallon and his methods, had given
-the secret away for a consideration. Doubtless
-he was poor, perhaps in difficulties;
-otherwise he would have kept the information
-and bought all the Clerio shares he could
-lay his hands upon.
-
-Now Joan knew why Gallon had written
-yesterday to a man in Manchester, asking
-him how many Clerios he had to sell, and
-what was the lowest price he was prepared
-to take for them, adding that it would be
-useless, in the present depressed state of the
-market, to name a high figure. This man
-had been requested to wire his answer, and
-at any moment it might arrive.
-
-When Joan had jumped so far in her
-conclusions, Gallon escorted his visitor out,
-flinging back word that he would be in again
-in half an hour.
-
-The girl's blood sang in her ears. It
-seemed to her that Fortune was knocking
-at the door; but could she find the key to
-open it? She called all her wits to the
-rescue, and in five minutes that key was
-grating in the lock.
-
-In Gallon's private room was a small
-desk, which she used when her services were
-wanted there. This gave her an excuse to go
-in, and in passing she threw a glance at
-Tommy Mellis, which caused him, after the
-lapse of a decent interval (he counted eighty
-seconds), to follow.
-
-"Once you said you would do anything
-for me," she began, with a lovely look.
-"Did you mean it?"
-
-"Rather!"
-
-"Well, then, the next question is: Will
-your father do anything for *you*?"
-
-"He'll do a good deal."
-
-"If you tell him you've a tip about some
-shares that are bound to rise, will he give you
-the money to buy them?"
-
-"He'd lend it. That's his way. He'd
-be tickled to see me taking an interest in
-business. But what has that got to do
-with----"
-
-"I want to buy some shares--lots of shares--all
-I can get hold of. To-day they're
-going cheap. To-morrow, who can say?
-They are Clerios."
-
-"But, look here, even I know that Clerios
-are no good. It's a badly managed line,
-and the shares are down to next to nothing."
-
-"All the better. Mr. Gallon mustn't know
-you are in this, as he wants to get hold of
-all the shares himself. You must trust me
-enough to have them put into my name, and
-when I've got your profit for you, we'll go
-halves. Can you see your father inside half
-an hour?"
-
-"His place is just round the corner."
-
-"Well, then, if you *do* care anything for
-me, ask him to see you through a big deal.
-You shall really make on it, I promise you,
-something worth having besides my--gratitude."
-
-"The governor's a queer fish. If I should
-let him in----"
-
-"You won't let him in. But we don't
-want your father or anybody else in with us.
-All we want is the loan, and his name, which
-is a good one in the City, I know. I trust
-you for that. You must show how clever
-you are, if you're anxious to please me.
-I'll manage the rest. Now, like a dear, good
-boy, run off and arrange things with your father."
-
-Again Tommy became knight-errant, and
-hardly was he out of the way when a strange
-voice was heard in the adjoining office.
-"Mr. Gallon in? I'm Mr. Mitchison, from
-Manchester."
-
-"Mr. Gallon is out at present, but----"
-a clerk had begun, when Joan appeared
-and cut him short. "Mr. Gallon wishes
-me to see Mr. Mitchison, in his absence.
-Will you kindly step in here, sir?"
-
-The gentleman from Manchester obeyed.
-Joan's quick eyes noted his worried air and
-the genteel shabbiness of his clothing. "I am
-Mr. Gallon's confidential secretary," she said.
-"I know about this business of Clerios.
-You came instead of wiring? Mr. Gallon
-rather expected you would."
-
-"I had to come to London in a day or
-two, anyhow, and it's always more
-satisfactory to do business in person."
-
-"Exactly. Well, I'm sorry to tell you
-that Mr. Gallon has seen reason to change his
-mind about buying your block of shares
-in the Clerio line, as he has some big things
-on now, and finds his hands full; but
-Mr. Mellis, a client of his--'the Salmon King,'
-you know--wants to invest some money
-privately for his son. Mr. Gallon has advised
-them that, though Clerios are not likely to
-rise much for some years, there is a certain,
-if small, dividend; and if you can tell young
-Mr. Mellis where they can get hold of other
-blocks of the same shares, it might then be
-worth his while to take over yours. Those
-you hold are hardly enough for him without others."
-
-"I know several men in Genoa, where I
-did business for some years, who hold shares
-and would part with them for a decent price.
-I could work the deal for Mr. Mellis, I'm
-certain."
-
-"Good. He's at his father's office now.
-I have Mr. Gallon's permission to introduce
-you to him, but his only free time this morning
-is in the next half-hour. I can go with
-you to Mr. Mellis senior's office, if you're
-inclined to settle matters at once."
-
-"The Salmon King," who had earned
-his title by building up the largest "canned
-goods" business of its kind in England, had
-offices on the ground floor of an imposing
-building not far away, and Joan was lucky
-enough to guide her companion to the door
-without the dreaded misfortune of meeting
-George Gallon on the way. As they crossed
-the threshold, Tommy Mellis issued from
-a room with a ground-glass door. Joan
-hurried to him, asked if his father had been
-kind, was assured that all was well so far,
-and hastened to explain the new development
-of affairs so clearly that even Tommy's
-slow intelligence grasped her meaning
-without difficulty. "When I've introduced you
-to Mr. Mitchison, offer him twenty pounds
-a share (their nominal value is fifty), and if
-necessary go up to twenty-five. Tell him
-he shall have a commission on all the other
-shares he can get, if the whole thing can be
-fixed up by wire to-morrow. Say there is a
-man coming to see you the day after about
-some other investment, which your father
-prefers, but you've taken a fancy to this, and
-want everything settled before the two older
-men come together. As Gallon must do all
-his business in Clerios privately, and doesn't
-want to ask for them in the House, that will
-give us time to work."
-
-"By Jove! this will mean a lot of money,"
-faltered Tommy. "Of course, I'm delighted
-to do this for you, but if the governor----"
-
-Joan soothed his fears; and introduced
-Mitchison to young Mellis, who took them
-both into a small, empty office. She hovered
-about during the business conversation which
-ensued, putting in a word here and there,
-and impressing the Manchester man with her
-shrewdness. In his opinion, George Gallon
-had a treasure for a secretary, and he was
-grateful to her for pushing on his affairs so
-well, especially as he did not believe he could
-have got from Gallon the price which Mellis
-was willing to give.
-
-When Joan returned to the office in
-Copthall Court, her employer had not yet come
-back. "Don't tell Mr. Gallon I've been out,
-will you?" she appealed to the clerks, her
-slaves. As she spoke, the door opened, and
-Gallon entered, just in time to hear the
-ingenuous request. The young men flushed
-in consternation for her, but the girl did not
-change colour. As a matter of fact, she
-had known that George was coming up,
-and had probably seen her on the stairs.
-She had not spoken without design.
-
-Having been delayed vexatiously, Gallon
-was not in a good mood, and his black ones
-were unpleasant for underlings. A frowning
-look and a gesture of the head called
-Joan to his private office. She followed
-meekly; but when the scolding had reached
-the stage which she mentally designated
-as "ripe," her meekness vanished like snow
-in sunshine.
-
-"How dare you speak to me like that!"
-she exclaimed, her eyes blazing. "I'm not
-your servant, though I have served you
-well. I leave to-day."
-
-"This moment, if you choose," George
-flung back at her furiously, though in reality
-he had not intended matters to touch this
-climax. Joan had become valuable, but,
-as he said to himself in his sullen anger,
-she was the "last person in the world whose
-impudence he would stand."
-
-When Joan had gathered up her few
-belongings, and remarked that she would
-send for her typewriter, she added:
-"Mr. Mitchison, of Manchester, called, and wanted
-me to tell you that he'd already parted
-with the shares you wired about last night.
-I asked who had bought them, but he was
-pledged to secrecy. I believe that is all I
-need say, except that you will find all your
-correspondence in good order, to be taken
-over by my successor; and as you have
-declared so often that clever stenographers
-are starving for want of employment, you
-will not be long in obtaining one."
-
-With this she was off, and, hailing the
-first cab she saw (though in her
-circumstances a cab was an extravagance), drove
-to Woburn Place, where she lived in a back
-bedroom on the top floor of a cheap boarding-house.
-
-She remained only long enough, however,
-to change into one of the pretty dresses left
-from last spring's wardrobe. Looking as if
-her home should be Park Lane instead of
-Bloomsbury, she went to the office of the
-illustrated weekly in which she had been
-interested that morning. When she inquired
-the address of *Titania's* owner, she was
-told that all business connected with the
-yacht would be done at the advertising
-bureau of the paper. This was a blow, for
-the proposal that Joan had to make was not,
-perhaps, of a kind suited to the taste of a
-mere commonplace agent. She thought for
-a moment, and then said, with a slight
-accent which she had learned through mimicking
-a girl at school: "Well, I'm very sorry,
-but I'm afraid we can't do business, then.
-I'm an American girl; my name is
-Mordaunt. Grierson Mordaunt is my uncle.
-I guess you've heard of him. I want to
-buy a yacht, in a hurry--my people generally
-are in a hurry--and I thought this one
-might do. But if I can't see the owner
-myself, it's no use. *Good* morning."
-
-.. _`"Looking as if her home should be Park Lane instead of Bloomsbury, she went to the office."`:
-
-.. figure:: images/img-064.jpg
- :align: center
- :alt: "Looking as if her home should be Park Lane instead of Bloomsbury, she went to the office."
-
- "Looking as if her home should be Park Lane instead of Bloomsbury, she went to the office."
-
-
-Before she had got half-way to the door
-the dapper manager of the advertising bureau
-stopped her. Possibly an exception might
-be made in her favour; he would write to
-his client.
-
-"Can you send the letter by district
-messenger?" shrewdly asked the
-newly-fledged Miss Mordaunt.
-
-The manager admitted that this could be
-done. To what hotel should he transmit
-the answer? "I'm staying with friends,
-and I don't want them to know about this
-till it's settled," said Joan. "I tell you
-what I'll do: I'll wait here."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER IV--The Steam Yacht *Titania*
-=====================================
-
-She did wait, for three-quarters of an
-hour; and at the end of that time the
-manager received a reply to his letter. In
-consequence, he told Joan that Lady John
-Bevan would see her at Kensington Park
-Mansions.
-
-As soon as the girl heard the name of
-Lady John Bevan, she knew why the yacht
-was for sale, and was hopeful that the eccentric
-proposition she meant to make might be
-received with favour. Lord John Bevan
-was in prison, for the crime of forgery,
-committed after losing a fortune at Monte Carlo.
-
-Joan took another cab to Kensington
-Park Mansions--a mean shelter for a woman
-whose environment had once been brilliant.
-But Lady John, a tall and peculiarly elegant
-woman, shone out like a jewel in an
-unworthy setting. The two women looked at
-each other with admiration, and there was
-eagerness in the elder's voice as she said:
-"You want to buy the *Titania*, Miss Mordaunt?"
-
-"I'm not sure yet, till I've tried, to see
-how I like her," replied Joan. "That's
-fair, isn't it? What I want, if I see the
-yacht, take fancy to her, and we can
-come to terms, is to hire the *Titania* for
-a while. Then, at the end of that time,
-if I don't buy her myself, I'll sell her for
-you to somebody else; that's a promise.
-What would you want for your yacht for a
-couple of months, all in working order, and
-the captain and crew's money included?"
-
-"Five hundred pounds," returned Lady
-John. "You can see her at Cowes."
-
-"Well, I don't mind telling you that's
-more than I expected. I'm G. B. Mordaunt's
-niece, and some day I suppose I
-shall be one of the richest women in America,
-but my money's tied up till I'm twenty-five.
-I've only an allowance, and Uncle Grierson,
-who is my guardian, is hard as nails. I'll
-tell you what I can do, though. I have some
-shares which are worth a lot of money,
-but I don't want to deal with them myself,
-as their value is a secret, and my uncle
-would be mad with me if he knew I was
-using it. What I was going to say is this.
-The shares I speak of are worth mighty
-little to those who aren't 'in the know,' and
-a lot to those who are. If you'll call
-to-morrow morning at ten o'clock on a
-stockbroker in the City, whose address I'll give
-you, and tell him you've a block of Clerios to
-dispose of, he'll jump at the offer. All you
-must do is to stand firm, and you can get
-eight hundred pounds out of him. If he
-says they're no good, just let your eyes
-twinkle and tell him G. B. Mordaunt's
-niece has been talking to you. That will
-settle Mr. George Gallon! Keep your five
-hundred for the yacht, and give the three
-hundred change to me. Of course, this is
-provided I like the yacht. You give me an
-order to see her at Cowes. I'll start at once,
-wire you what I think of her, and, if it's all
-right, I'll call here first thing in the morning
-with the share certificates."
-
-Carried away by the girl's magnetism and
-dash, Lady John Bevan would have said
-"Yes" to almost anything. She said "Yes"
-now with a promptness which surprised
-herself when she thought of it afterwards,
-by the cold light of reason.
-
-Joan arrived at Cowes before dark, and
-was delighted with the *Titania* and her crew.
-She wired her approval to Lady John, and
-telegraphed Tommy Mellis, asking him to
-meet her at Waterloo for the eleven o'clock
-train from Southampton, bringing the share
-certificates which had that morning been
-Mitchison's. She was sure that Tommy
-would not fail, and he did not. They had
-supper together in the grill-room of the
-Carlton, as Joan was not in evening dress.
-She told him all she chose to tell, and no
-more; and thus ended the busiest day of
-Joan Carthew's life.
-
-The transaction in which Lady John
-Bevan was to act as catspaw came off next
-morning as the girl had expected, and she
-would have given something handsome if
-she could have seen George Gallon's face
-when he found himself obliged to pay, for
-the very shares he had expected to obtain
-yesterday, four times what he had intended
-to offer Mitchison. His profit would now
-be small, when the great *coup* came off;
-still, he could not afford to refuse the chance,
-and Joan knew it. Some day, she meant that
-he should also know to whom he owed his
-defeat; but that day was not yet.
-
-For the shares sold by Mitchison he had
-received two hundred pounds. A like sum
-Joan agreed to place in Tommy's hands, as
-part profit of the transaction; and when
-Lady John Bevan was paid for the two
-months' hire of the *Titania*, the girl would
-have a hundred pounds over, to "play with,"
-as she expressed it to herself. The other
-shares which Mitchison was pledged to obtain
-from Genoa would be available within the
-next few days, and Joan had made up her
-mind what to do with them by and by.
-She had had several inspirations since
-overhearing snatches of conversation between her
-employer and his Italian visitor yesterday
-morning, and one of these inspirations
-concerned Lady John Bevan.
-
-Lady John was pitied by the old friends
-in the old life from which poverty and
-misfortune had removed her. People would
-have been glad to be "nice" to her in any
-cheap way which did not cost too much
-money or trouble, if she had let them. But
-the woman was a proud woman, who still
-loved her husband in spite of his guilt, and
-she had not cared to go out of her hired
-flat in Kensington to be patronised by the
-world which had once flattered and fought
-for her invitations. Joan guessed as much
-of this as she did not know, and when Lady
-John wished her, rather wistfully, a "pleasant
-cruise," the girl said suddenly: "Come
-along and be my chaperon! My aunt
-Caroline, Uncle Grierson Mordaunt's sister,
-came to England with me; but she hates the
-sea, and flatly refuses to do any yachting.
-I'm not sorry, because she's a prim old
-dear, and what I want is to see a little life
-and fun. I've been kept very close till
-now, and though I'm of age, I'm only just
-out, so I don't know many people, and you
-would be sure to meet lots of nice friends of
-yours, to whom you'd introduce me. It's so
-foggy and horrid here now; I'm going to
-make straight for the Riviera with the *Titania*,
-and it will do you good. Please come."
-
-Lady John could not resist the prospect,
-or that "Please," spoken cooingly, with
-lovely, pleading eyes and a childlike touch
-on her arm. Besides, she was fond of the
-*Titania*, and before she quite knew what
-she was doing, she had promised to chaperon
-Grierson Mordaunt's niece.
-
-Considering the way in which she was
-handicapped by false pretences and
-shortness of cash, Joan could not have done
-better for herself. She told Lady John that
-she had had a disagreement with the friends
-with whom she had been staying, and wished
-to be recommended to a hotel for the few
-days before they could get off on the *Titania*.
-Of course, Lady John invited her to the
-flat, and the girl accepted. She asked her
-new chaperon's advice about dressmakers
-and milliners for the Riviera outfit, which
-must be got together in a hurry. Lady
-John had paid all her own bills after the
-crash, with money grudgingly supplied by
-relations, and was still in the "good books"
-of the tradespeople she had once lavishly
-patronised. Introduced by her as a niece
-of the well-known American millionaire, Joan
-had unlimited credit to procure unlimited
-pretty things. Everything had to be bought
-ready made; and at the end of the week
-the steam-yacht *Titania*, with "Miss Jenny
-Mordaunt" and Lady John Bevan on board,
-was bounding gaily over the bright waters
-of the Bay. A few days later, the *Titania*
-made one of a colony of other yachts lying
-snugly in Nice harbour.
-
-Now, Joan's wisdom in the choice of a
-chaperon justified itself even more pointedly
-than when it had been a question of a pilot
-among shoals of tradespeople. Lady John
-believed in her young charge, whose
-statements concerning her engaging self it had
-never occurred to the elder woman to doubt.
-Having undertaken the duties of a chaperon,
-she was conscientious in carrying them out,
-and lost no time in picking up old friendships
-which might be valuable to Miss Mordaunt--just
-how valuable, or in what way, Lady
-John little dreamed.
-
-Not only did she know a number of rich
-and titled English folk, who had come out to
-spend the cold months at their villas, or in
-fashionable hotels, at Nice, Monte Carlo, and
-Mentone, but she could claim acquaintance
-with various foreign royalties and
-personages of high degree. These latter
-especially were delighted to meet the beautiful
-American girl, who was so rich and
-independent that she travelled about the world
-on her own yacht. It was nobody's business
-that the *Titania* was but hired for two months,
-since it was Miss Mordaunt's pleasure to
-pose as the owner. The name of the yacht
-had been changed, for politic reasons, since
-gay Lord John had careered about the
-waterways of the world in her; she had been
-newly decorated, and the colour of her paint
-had undergone a change, therefore she could
-pass unrecognised by all save experts. Joan
-and her chaperon kept "open house" on
-board. The luncheon-table was always laid
-for twelve, in case any one strolled on in
-the morning whom it would be agreeable to
-detain. On fine days--and what days were
-not fine on these shores beloved of the sun?--tea
-was always served on deck under the
-rose-and-white awning; and Russian princes,
-Austrian barons and baronesses, French counts
-and countesses, with a sprinkling of the
-English nobility, came early and stayed
-late to drink the Orange Pekoe and eat the
-exquisite little cakes provided by the
-confiding tradespeople of Nice. Joan paid for
-nothing, and got everything. Was she not a
-great American heiress, and was not the yacht
-alone a guarantee of her trustworthiness?
-
-Not even the owners of famous American
-yachts lying alongside suspected the girl to
-be other than she seemed, though they were
-of the world in which Grierson Mordaunt
-was prominent. He was not a man who
-made intimate friends, and none of those
-who knew him best had any reason to doubt
-that he had a pretty niece named Jenny.
-Concerning the great Mordaunt himself Joan
-kept posted as to his whereabouts. She read
-the papers and followed his movements in
-Florida; therefore she felt safe and pursued
-her business more or less calmly.
-
-For it was business more than pleasure
-which had brought the girl on this adventure,
-though she knew how to combine the two.
-Her hospitality, her breakfasts, her tea and
-cakes, her lavish dinners, were not supplied
-to her guests for nothing, though they were
-not aware that they were paying save by the
-honour of their presence. When Joan had
-established friendly relations with a person
-worth cultivating (she abjured all others),
-her next step was to drop a careless word
-about a wonderful "tip" she had got from
-Grierson Mordaunt. "It's all in the family,"
-she would say, laughing, "or he would never
-have given it away; and, of course, I mustn't.
-He just said to me: 'Buy up a certain
-thing while you can get it,' and I did. My
-goodness! I've got more than I know what
-to do with, for, after all, I had more money
-than I wanted before. By and by I shall be
-*too* rich. Mercy! I'm afraid now of being
-married for my money."
-
-Then the hearers, dazzled by this fairy
-story, wondered whether they might possibly
-ask Miss Mordaunt if they could profit by
-the marvellous "tip," and pick up a few
-crumbs from her overflowing table. If Joan
-had hawked her wares, no doubt these
-people would have fought shy; but as the
-object was difficult of attainment and must
-be manoeuvred for, according to the way
-of the world they struggled for it with
-eagerness. As soon as Joan could decently appear
-to understand, in her innocence, what her dear
-friends were driving at, she was so
-"good-natured" that she volunteered to sell them
-a few of her own shares. The only promise
-she exacted in return was that nobody would
-boast of the favour granted. The shares
-which she had bought at a low price--not
-yet paid--she sold for three times their
-face value, sent half the profit to Tommy
-Mellis as she got it in, and pocketed her own
-half. She was thus able to pay the tradespeople
-who had trusted her, and to lay in coal for
-the trips round the coast which the *Titania*
-often took with a few distinguished passengers.
-
-The girl could have sung for joy over the
-success of her adventure. In the end she
-would cheat nobody; she would make a
-decent sum for herself, and meanwhile she
-was drinking the intoxicating nectar of
-excitement. She was so happy that when
-she had finished her business, sold all her
-shares, and the two months for which the
-*Titania* was hired were drawing to an end
-she longed to stay on. She was her own
-mistress, and could pay her way now--at
-least, for awhile, until she had another
-stroke of luck, which her confidence in
-herself enabled her to count upon as certain.
-She and Lady John were having a "good
-time," everybody liked them, and she did
-not see why this good time should not go
-on indefinitely. Besides, she had promised
-to sell the yacht for its owner. The two
-ladies of the *Titania* had invitations for a
-month ahead, and one evening were dressed
-and waiting for the arrival of an English
-bishop, a Roman prince, two American
-trust magnates, and a French duchess and
-her daughter, when the name of Mr. Grierson
-Mordaunt was announced.
-
-Joan's blood rushed to her head, but she
-stood up smiling. "Leave us for a minute,
-dear," she breathed to Lady John, who
-slipped off to her cabin unsuspectingly.
-The girl found herself facing a grizzled,
-smooth-shaven man with a prominent chin,
-a large nose, and deep eyes of iron grey
-which matched his hair and faded skin.
-
-"So you are the young woman who has
-been trading on a supposed relationship to
-me?" remarked Grierson Mordaunt, looking
-her up and down from head to foot.
-
-"We are related--through Adam," replied
-Joan, whose lips were dry. "As for
-'trading' on the relationship, I'm proud of it,
-and I don't see why you should be ashamed
-of me. I've done nothing to disgrace you."
-
-"What is your game, that you should have
-selected my particular branch of the Adam
-family?"
-
-"Because I have one of your family
-secrets. If you are going to disown me,
-there's no reason why I shouldn't give it away."
-
-"What are you talking about?"
-
-"Clerios. You aren't ready for the secret
-of that deal to come out yet, are you? I
-saw in the paper the other day that you had
-denied any intention of taking the Clerio
-line into your combine. It was the same
-paper that said you had just returned to
-New York from Florida."
-
-"You are an adventuress, my young friend."
-
-"Every seeker of fortune is an adventurer
-or an adventuress. The crime is, failure.
-I'm not a criminal, because I am succeeding,
-and my success has enabled me to meet my
-obligations. If you don't think that I was
-justified in claiming relationship with you
-through so remote an ancestor in common
-as Adam, you can make the rest of my stay
-here very uncomfortable, I admit; and if
-you have no fellow-feeling for a beginner, I
-suppose you will do it."
-
-"How long do you intend your stay to
-be?" inquired Mordaunt grimly, but with
-a twinkle in his eye.
-
-"How long do you want it kept dark
-about Clerios?"
-
-"A fortnight."
-
-"Then I should like very much, if you
-don't mind, to stop here a fortnight."
-
-The great man laughed. "You've the
-pluck of--the Evil One!" he ejaculated.
-"I was in Paris, and read about one of my
-niece's smart dinner-parties, so I came
-on--especially to see you. Now----"
-
-"Now you are here, won't you stop to one
-of the dinner-parties? Some very nice people
-are coming this evening."
-
-"And play the part of fond uncle? No,
-I thank you. But, by Jove! I'm hanged if
-I don't go away without unmasking you.
-You may bless your pretty face and your
-smart tongue for that----"
-
-"And the family secret."
-
-"That's part of it, but not all. I give
-you a fortnight's grace. Mind, not a day
-more; and respect the character you've
-stolen meanwhile, or the promise doesn't
-stand. This day fortnight you clear out,
-and Miss Jenny Mordaunt must never be
-heard of again."
-
-"It's a bargain," said Joan. "By some
-other name I shall be as great."
-
-"So long as it's not mine. Have you done
-well with Clerios?"
-
-"Pretty well, thank you. I was a little
-hampered for lack of capital. I might get
-you a few shares here in Nice, if you like;
-not cheap, exactly--still, a good deal lower
-than they will be a fortnight from now."
-
-"Much obliged. You needn't trouble
-yourself. But I shall keep my eye on you."
-
-"I shall consider it a compliment," said
-Joan, "and try to be worthy of it."
-
-"Good-bye."
-
-"Good-bye."
-
-When he was gone, Joan sank into a
-chair and closed her eyes. It would have
-been a comfort to faint, but the first guest
-arrived at that moment, and she rose to them
-and to the occasion. The dinner was a great
-success, and every one was grieved to hear
-that the *Titania* was due to steam away--for
-a destination unmentioned--in a fortnight.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER V--The Landlady at Woburn Place
-=======================================
-
-Joan had no difficulty in selling *Titania*
-for Lady John Bevan, to a Swiss
-millionaire, the proprietor of a popular
-chocolate, who was disporting himself on
-the Riviera that winter. The yacht was
-to be delivered to him at Corsica, so that
-when the charming Miss Mordaunt and her
-chaperon steamed out of Nice Harbour, none
-of those who bade them farewell needed to
-know that *Titania* was to be disposed of. If
-they found out afterwards, it did not matter
-much to Joan. After her the Deluge.
-
-The girl had grown fond of Lady John
-Bevan, and could not bear to exchange her
-friend's warm affection and gratitude for
-contempt. Therefore she made up a pretty
-little fiction about an unexpected summons
-to America, and parted from Lady John,
-with mutual regret, at Ajaccio. Joan's one
-grief in this connexion was that Miss
-Mordaunt would scarcely be able to keep her
-promise to write from New York; but this
-grief was only one of the rain-drops in that
-"deluge" which had to fall after the
-vanishing of the American heiress.
-
-If she had been prudent, Joan might have
-come out of this adventure with a small
-fortune after sending Tommy Mellis his
-share of the spoil; but she had been
-intoxicated with success, and had spent lavishly,
-as money came from the sale of the shares.
-She made a good commission on the "deal"
-with the yacht, which she sold for a somewhat
-larger sum than Lady John had asked; but
-where a less generous young person might
-have closed the episode with thousands,
-Joan Carthew had only hundreds. She had
-also, however, many smart dresses, some
-jewellery, and the memory of an exciting
-experience. Besides, the money she kept
-had been got easily, in addition to the joy
-of her adventure.
-
-It had been in the girl's mind, perhaps,
-that she might, as Miss Mordaunt, capture a
-fortune and a title; but in this regard, and
-this only, the episode of the *Titania* had
-proved a failure. She had had plenty of
-proposals, to be sure; but the men who
-were rich were either too old, too ugly, or
-too vulgar to suit the fastidious young woman
-who called the world her oyster; and the
-titles laid at her feet were all sadly in need
-of the gilding which a genuine American
-heiress might have supplied for the sake of
-becoming a Russian princess or a French *duchesse*.
-
-So Miss Mordaunt disappeared from the
-brilliant world where she had glittered like
-a star; and at about the same time, Miss
-Joan Carthew (who had nothing to conceal)
-appeared at her old quarters in Woburn
-Place. She went back there for two reasons;
-indeed, Joan had bought her experience of
-life too dearly to do anything without a
-reason. The first was because she wished
-to lie hid for awhile, spending no unnecessary
-money until the twilight of uncertainty
-should brighten into the dawn of inspiration
-and show her the next step on the ladder
-which she was determined to mount. The
-second reason was that the landlady--a quite
-exceptional person for a landlady--had been
-kind, and Joan desired to reward her.
-
-If the girl had not gone back to Woburn
-Place, her whole future might have been
-different. But--she did go back, and arrived
-in the midst of a crisis. Since Joan had
-vanished, some months ago, bad luck had
-come into the house and finally opened the
-door for the bailiff.
-
-Joan found the landlady in tears; but to
-explain the fulness of the girl's sympathy,
-the landlady must be described.
-
-In the first place, she *was* a lady; and she
-was young and pretty, though a widow. Her
-husband had been the Honourable Richard
-Fitzpatrick, the scapegrace son of a penniless
-Irish viscount. "Dishonourable Dick," as
-he was sometimes nicknamed behind his
-back, had gone to California to make his
-fortune, had naturally failed, but had
-succeeded in marrying an exceedingly pretty
-girl, an orphan, with ten thousand pounds of
-her own. He had brought her to England,
-had spent most of her money on the
-race-course, and would have spent the rest, had
-it not occurred to him that it would be good
-sport to do a little fighting in South Africa.
-He had volunteered, and soon after died of
-enteric.
-
-Meanwhile, the Honourable Mrs. Fitzpatrick
-was at a boarding-house in Woburn
-Place, where the landlord and landlady were
-so kind to her that she gladly lent them
-several hundred pounds, not knowing yet
-that she had only a few other hundreds left
-out of her little fortune.
-
-Suddenly the blow fell. Within three days
-Marian Fitzpatrick learned that she was a
-widow, that her dead husband had employed
-the short interval of their married life in
-getting rid of almost everything she had;
-and that, her landlord and landlady being
-bankrupt, she could not hope for the return
-of the three-hundred-pound loan she had
-made them.
-
-It was finally arranged, as the best thing
-to be done, that she should take over the
-lease of the boarding-house and try to get
-back what she had lost, by "running" the
-establishment herself.
-
-Mrs. Fitzpatrick had just shouldered this
-somewhat incongruous burden, when Joan
-Carthew had been attracted to the house by
-the brightness of the gilt lettering over the
-door, and the pretty, fresh curtains in the
-windows. Joan was nineteen, and Marian
-Fitzpatrick twenty-three. The two had been
-drawn to one another with the first meeting
-of their eyes. When, after a few weeks'
-acquaintance, the girl had been told the
-young widow's story, her interest and
-sympathy were keenly aroused, for Joan's heart
-was not hard except to the rich, most of whom
-she conceived to be less deserving, if more
-fortunate, than herself. Now, when she came
-back fresh from her triumphant campaign
-on the *Côte d'Azur*, to hear that things
-had gone from bad to worse, all the latent
-chivalry in her really generous nature was
-aroused.
-
-Joan was tall as a young goddess brought
-up on the heights of Olympus, instead of
-at a French boarding-school. Despite the
-hardships and wretchedness of her childhood,
-she was strong in body and mind and spirit,
-with the strength of perfect nerves and a
-splendid vitality. Marian Fitzpatrick, broken
-by disappointment, and worn by months of
-anxiety, was fragile and white as a lily which
-has been bent by savage storms, and the
-sight of her small, pale face and big, sad,
-brown eyes fired the girl with an almost
-fierce determination to assume the *rôle* of
-protector.
-
-"I've got money," she reflected, in mental
-defiance of the Fate with whom she had
-waged war since childish days, "and I can
-make more when this is gone. I suppose I'm
-a fool, but I don't care a rap. I'm going to
-help Marian Fitzpatrick, and perhaps make
-her fortune, as I mean to make my own. But
-just for the present, mine can wait, and hers
-can't."
-
-Aloud, she asked Marian what sum would
-tide her over present difficulties. Two
-hundred and fifty pounds, it appeared, were
-needed. Joan promptly volunteered to lend,
-on one condition, but she was cut short before
-she had time to name it.
-
-"Condition or no condition, you dear
-girl, I can't let you do it," sobbed Marian.
-"I'm perfectly sure I could never pay. I'm
-in a quicksand and bound to sink. Nobody
-can pull me out."
-
-"I can," said Joan; "and in doing it, I'll
-show you how to pay me. You just listen
-to what I have to say, and don't interrupt.
-When I get an inspiration, I tell you, it's
-worth hearing, and I've got one now. What
-I want you to do is to give up trying to manage
-this house. You're too young and pretty
-and soft-hearted for a landlady, and you
-haven't the talent for it, though you have
-plenty in other ways, and one is, to be
-charming. My inspiration will show you how best
-to utilise that talent."
-
-Then Joan talked on, and at first Marian
-was shocked and horrified; but in the end the
-force of the girl's extraordinary magnetism
-and self-confidence subdued her. She ceased
-to protest. She even laughed, and a stain
-of rose colour came back to her cheeks. It
-would be very awful and alarming, and
-perhaps wicked, to do what Joan Carthew
-proposed, but it would be tremendously exciting
-and interesting; and there was enough
-youthful love of mischief left in her to enjoy
-an adventure with a kind of fearful joy,
-especially when all the responsibility was
-shouldered by another stronger than herself.
-
-The first thing to do towards the carrying
-out of the great plan was to get some one
-to manage the boarding-house in Mrs. Fitzpatrick's
-place. This was difficult, for
-competent and honest managers, male or female,
-were not to be found at registry-offices, like
-cooks; but Joan was (or thought she was)
-equal to this emergency as well as others.
-She sorted out from the dismal rag-bag of
-her early Brighton experiences the memory
-of a wonderful woman who had done
-something to make life tolerable for her when she
-was the forlorn drudge of Mrs. Boyle's
-lodging-house at 12, Seafoam Terrace.
-
-This wonderful woman had been one of
-two sisters who kept a rival lodging-house in
-Seafoam Terrace. The Misses Witt owned
-the place, consequently it was not improbable
-that they were still to be found there, after
-these seven years; and as they had not always
-agreed together, it seemed possible that the
-younger Miss Witt (the clever and nice one,
-who had given occasional cakes and bulls'-eyes
-to Joan in those bad old days) might be
-prevailed upon to accept an independent
-position, with a salary, in London.
-
-Joan had always promised herself that,
-when she was rich and prosperous, she would
-sweep into the house of her bondage like a
-young princess, and bestow favours upon
-little Minnie Boyle, whom she had loved.
-But Lady Thorndyke had not wished her
-adopted daughter even to remember the sordid
-past; and after the death of her benefactress,
-the girl had not until lately been in a
-position to undertake the *rôle* of fairy princess.
-Even now, to be sure, she was not rich, but
-she swam on the tide of success, and she had
-at least the air of dazzling prosperity. She
-dressed herself in a way to make Mrs. Boyle
-grovel, and bought a first-class ticket, one
-Friday afternoon, for Brighton. She took her
-seat in an empty carriage, and hardly had she
-opened a magazine when a man got in. It was
-George Gallon; and if he had wished to get
-out again on recognising his travelling
-companion, there would not have been time for
-him to do so, as at that moment the train
-began to move out of the station.
-
-These two had not seen each other since
-the eventful morning when Joan had resigned
-her position as Mr. Gallon's secretary. She
-was not sure whether she were sorry or glad
-to see him now, but the situation had its
-dramatic element. George spoke stiffly, and
-Joan responded with malicious cordiality.
-Knowing nothing of her identity with
-Grierson Mordaunt's brilliant niece, long pent-up
-curiosity forced the man to ask questions as
-to where she had been and what she had been
-doing.
-
-"I have an interest in a London boarding-house,
-and am going to Brighton to try and
-engage a manageress," Joan deigned to
-reply, with a twinkle under her long eyelashes.
-"I forgot that you would of course have kept
-on the old place at Brighton. I suppose
-you are going down for the week-end?"
-
-George admitted grimly that this was the
-case, and as Joan would give only tantalising
-glimpses of her doings in the last few months,
-and seemed inclined to put impish questions
-about the office she had left, he took refuge in
-a newspaper. Joan calmly read her magazine,
-and not another word was exchanged until
-the train had actually come to a stop in the
-Brighton station. "Oh! by the way," the
-girl exclaimed then, as if on a sudden thought.
-"It was I who got hold of those Clerios I
-believe you had an idea of buying in so very
-cheap. I knew you could afford to pay well
-if you wanted them. One gets these little
-tips, you know, in an office like yours. That's
-why I snapped at your two pounds a week.
-Good-bye. I hope you'll enjoy the sea air
-at dear Brighton."
-
-Before George Gallon could find breath to
-answer, she was gone, and he was left to
-anathematise the hand-luggage which must
-be given to a porter. By the time it was
-disposed of, the impertinent young woman
-had disappeared. Yet there is a difference
-between disappearing and escaping. Joan's little
-impulsive stab had made Gallon more her
-enemy than ever, and perhaps the day might
-come when she would have to regret the
-small satisfaction of the moment.
-
-But she had no thought of future perils,
-and drove in the gayest of moods to Seafoam
-Terrace, where she stopped her cab before
-the door of No. 12. There, however, she
-met disappointment. Her first inquiry was
-answered by the news that Mrs. Boyle had
-died of influenza in the winter, and the house
-had passed into other hands. The servant
-could tell her nothing of Minnie; but the
-new mistress called down from over the
-baluster, where she had been listening to the
-conversation, that she believed the little girl
-had been taken in by the two Misses Witt
-next door.
-
-Death had stolen from Joan a gratification
-of which she had dreamed for years. Mrs. Boyle
-could never now be forced to regret
-past unkindnesses to the young princess
-who had emerged like a splendid butterfly
-from a despised chrysalis; but Minnie was
-left, and Joan had been genuinely fond of
-Minnie. She had therefore a double
-incentive in hurrying to the house next door.
-
-The nice Miss Witt herself answered the
-ring, and Joan had a few words with her alone.
-She would be delighted to accept a good
-position in London; and it was true that
-Minnie Boyle was there. She had taken
-compassion on the child, who was as penniless
-and friendless as Joan had been when last in
-Seafoam Terrace; but the elder Miss Witt
-wished to send the little girl to an orphanage,
-and the difference of opinion, and Minnie's
-presence in the house, led to constant
-discussion. "The only trouble is," said the
-kindly woman, "that if I leave, sister will
-send the little creature away."
-
-"She won't, because I shall take Minnie
-off her hands," retorted Joan, with the
-promptness of a sudden decision. "Do let
-me see the poor pet."
-
-Minnie was nine years old, so small that
-she did not look more than six, and so
-pathetically pretty that Joan saw at once how she
-might be fitted into the great plan. She
-could do even more for the child now than
-she had expected to do; and because the little
-one was poor and alone in the world, as she
-herself had been, Joan's heart grew more than
-ever warm to her playmate of the past. She
-made friends with Minnie, who had
-completely forgotten her, and so bewitched the
-child with her beauty, her kindness, and her
-smart clothes that Minnie was enchanted with
-the prospect of going away with such a grand
-young lady.
-
-"I used to know some nice fairy stories
-when I was very, very little," said the child.
-"This is like one of them."
-
-"I told you those fairy stories," returned
-Joan. "Now I am going to make them come true."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VI--The Tenants of Roseneath Park
-=========================================
-
-About the first of May, when Cornwall
-was at its loveliest, everybody within
-twenty miles of Toragel (a village famed for
-its beauty and antiquity, as artists and
-tourists know) was delighted to hear that
-Lord Trelinnen's place was let at last, and
-to most desirable tenants. Lord
-Trelinnen was elderly, and too poor to live at
-Roseneath Park, therefore Toragel had long
-ceased to be interested in him; but it was
-intensely interested in the new people, despite
-the fact that their advent was the second
-excitement which had stirred the fortunate
-village within the last year or two.
-
-The first had been the home-coming of
-Sir Anthony Pendered, the richest man in
-the county, who had volunteered for the
-Boer war, raised a regiment, and, when peace
-was declared, had come back to Torr Court
-covered with honours. He was only a knight,
-and had been given his title because of a
-valuable new explosive which he had
-discovered and made practicable. He had grown
-enormously rich through his various
-inventions, and, after an adventurous life of some
-thirty-eight years, had bought a handsome
-place near his native village, Toragel. At
-first the county had looked at him askance,
-but the South African affair had settled all
-aristocratic doubts in his favour. About
-a year before the letting of Roseneath Park
-he had been enthusiastically received by all
-classes, and was still a hero in everybody's
-eyes; nevertheless, the first excitement had
-had time to die down, and the county people
-and the "best society" of the village united
-with more or less hidden eagerness to know
-what poor old Lord Trelinnen's tenants would
-be like.
-
-The Trelinnen pew in the pretty church of
-Toragel was next to that where Sir Anthony
-Pendered was usually (and his maiden sister
-always) to be seen on Sunday mornings.
-The first Sunday after the new people's
-arrival, the church was full; but service
-began, and still the Trelinnen pew was empty.
-After all, the tenants of Roseneath Park
-(whom nobody had seen yet) had come only
-yesterday. Perhaps they would not appear
-till next Sunday; but just as the congregation
-was sadly resigning itself to this
-conclusion, there was a slight rustle at the door.
-The first hymn was being sung, therefore
-eyes were able to turn without too much
-levity; and it is wonderful how much and
-how far an eye can see by turning almost
-imperceptibly, particularly if it be the eye of
-a woman.
-
-Two ladies and a little girl were shown to
-the Trelinnen pew. Both ladies were young;
-the elder could not have been more than
-twenty-three, the younger looked scarcely
-nineteen. Both were in half-mourning; both
-were beautiful. They were, in fact, no other
-than the Honourable Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and
-her sisters, Miss Mercy and Mary Milton,
-these latter being known in other circles as
-Joan Carthew and little Minnie Boyle.
-
-The child, who appeared to be about six
-years old, was charmingly dressed, and
-exemplarily good during the service. As for
-her elders, they were almost aggravatingly
-devout, scarcely raising their eyes from
-their prayer-books, and never glancing
-about at their neighbours, not even at Sir
-Anthony Pendered, who looked at the two
-more than he had ever been known to look
-at any other women. This was saying a
-good deal, because he was by no means a
-misanthrope, although he was forty and had
-contrived to remain a bachelor. It was
-rumoured that he wished to marry, if he
-could find a wife to suit him, though
-meanwhile he was content enough with the society
-of his sister, who was far from encouraging
-any matrimonial aspirations.
-
-When Marian and Joan and Minnie were
-driven back to Roseneath Park (in the perfect
-victoria and by the splendid horses which
-advertised the solid bank balance they did
-not possess), the two "elder sisters" talked
-over their impressions.
-
-Minnie played with a French doll, that
-somewhat resembled herself in her new white
-frock, with her quantities of yellow hair.
-Marian, leaning back on a cushioned sofa,
-waiting for the luncheon-gong to sound,
-was prettier and more distinguished-looking
-than she had ever been; while Joan, as
-Mercy Milton, would scarcely have been
-recognised by those who knew her best.
-Marian's maiden name had really been Milton,
-and "Mercy" had been selected to fit the
-picture for which Joan had chosen to sit.
-Her beautiful, gold-brown hair was parted
-meekly in the middle and brought down over
-the ears, finishing with a simple coil in the
-nape of her white neck. She was dressed as
-plainly as a young nun, and had the air of
-qualifying for a saint.
-
-"Well, dear, what did you think of him?"
-she inquired of Marian.
-
-"Of whom?" asked Mrs. Fitzpatrick, blushing.
-
-"Oh, if you are going to be innocent!
-Well, then, of the distinguished being
-whose name and qualifications I showed you
-in the *Mayfair Budget* a few days after I
-got back to England and you. The *eligible
-parti*, in fact, whose residence near Toragel
-is responsible for our choice of abode."
-
-"Joan! *Don't* put it like that!"
-
-"'Mercy,' if you please, not Joan. And I've
-found out exactly what I wanted to know.
-Your reception of my brutal frankness has
-shown me that you like him. So far, so good."
-
-"I may like him, but that won't help your
-plan. Oh, Jo--Mercy, I mean, I do feel
-such a wretch! That man looks so honest
-and frank and nice, and he could hardly take
-his eyes off you in church. If he knew what
-frauds we are!"
-
-"You are not a fraud, and it is you with
-whom he is concerned, or it will be, as I'll
-soon show him, if necessary. Your name *is*
-Fitzpatrick; you are a widow; we are
-sisters--in affection. You haven't a fib to
-tell; you've only got to be charming."
-
-"But it's you he admires. I told you it
-would be so. If one of us is to be Lady----"
-
-"'Sh!" said Joan; and the gong boomed
-musically for lunch.
-
-Had it not been for the existence of innocent
-little Minnie, the county might not have
-accepted the lovely sisters as readily as it did.
-Joan had thought of that, as she thought of
-most things; and Minnie, the *protégée* of
-charity, was distinctly an asset. "A very
-good prop," as Joan mentally called her, in
-theatrical slang which she had learned,
-perhaps, from her long-vanished mother.
-
-The presence of Minnie in the feminine
-household gave a kind of pathetic, domestic
-grace, which appealed even to tradespeople;
-and tradespeople were extremely important
-in Joan's calculations.
-
-She had obtained credentials, upon starting
-on her new career, in a characteristic way.
-Miss Jenny Mordaunt wrote to Lady John
-Bevan, asking for a letter of introduction
-for a great friend of hers, the Honourable
-Mrs. Fitzpatrick, to the solicitors who had
-charge of Lord Trelinnen's affairs, as
-Mrs. Fitzpatrick wanted to take Roseneath Park.
-Jenny Mordaunt's late chaperon gladly
-managed this. Mrs. Fitzpatrick called upon
-her, and Lady John was charmed. She had
-known the "Dishonourable Dick" slightly,
-years ago, had heard that he had married
-an heiress, and marvelled now that he had
-been tolerated by so sweet a creature as
-this. Lady John offered one or two letters
-of introduction to old friends in Cornwall,
-and they were gratefully accepted. As the
-friends were not intimate, and as Lady John
-detested the country, except when hunting or
-shooting was in question, there was little
-danger that she would inopportunely appear
-on the scene and recognise the saintly Mercy
-Milton as the late Miss Mordaunt.
-
-Everybody called on the fair, lilylike
-young widow and her very modest, retiring,
-unmarried sister--everybody, that is, with
-the exception of Miss Pendered, who pleaded,
-when her brother urged, that she was too
-much of an invalid to call on new people.
-Soon, however, he boldly went by himself,
-excusing his sister with some tale of
-rheumatism which she would have indignantly
-resented. Mrs. Fitzpatrick and Mercy Milton
-were surrounded with other visitors when Sir
-Anthony Pendered was announced, and he
-was just in time to hear a glowing account of
-the orphaned sisters' "dear old California
-home," which Joan had learned by heart,
-partly from Marian's reminiscences, partly
-from a book.
-
-.. _`"Mrs. Fitzpatrick and Mercy Milton were surrounded by other visitors when Sir Anthony Pendered was announced."`:
-
-.. figure:: images/img-116.jpg
- :align: center
- :alt: "Mrs. Fitzpatrick and Mercy Milton were surrounded by other visitors when Sir Anthony Pendered was announced."
-
- "Mrs. Fitzpatrick and Mercy Milton were surrounded by other visitors when Sir Anthony Pendered was announced."
-
-
-"When father and mother died, little
-Minnie and I were the loneliest creatures
-you can imagine," the gentle Mercy was
-saying. "Dear Marian had just lost her
-husband, and so she wrote for us to join her.
-It is so nice having a home in the country
-again. We both felt we couldn't be happy
-without one, and we chose Cornwall because
-we thought it the loveliest county in England.
-We are very glad we did, now, for everybody
-has been *so* kind."
-
-She might have added "and the trades-people
-*so* trusting"; but on that subject she
-was silent, though she intended that they
-should go on trusting indefinitely. Indeed,
-thus far the scheme worked almost too easily
-to be interesting.
-
-Sir Anthony Pendered outstayed the other
-visitors, and he stopped unconscionably long
-for a first call; but that was the fault of his
-hostesses, who made themselves so charming
-that the man lost count of time--and perhaps
-lost his head a little, also. At first it seemed
-that Marian's impression was right, and that,
-despite Mercy's retiring ways, it was the young
-girl who attracted him. This made Marian
-secretly sad; for when she had seen Sir
-Anthony looking up from his prayer-book in
-the adjoining pew, she had said in her heart,
-with a sigh: "How good he would be to a
-woman! How he would pet her and take
-care of her! To be his wife would be very
-different from----" but she had guiltily
-broken short that sentence in the midst.
-
-Persuaded and fired by Joan, she had
-entered into this adventure. She had even
-laughed when Joan selected the neighbourhood
-of Toragel because a Society paper
-announced the advent of a particularly
-desirable bachelor. "You will be the
-prettiest and nicest woman in the county, of
-course; therefore, he will fall in love with
-you and propose. He will marry you; you
-will live happy ever after; and you will be
-able to pay all the debts that we shall have
-run up in the process of securing him," the
-girl had remarked. But now, when the
-"desirable bachelor" had become a living
-entity, and she felt her heart yearning
-towards him, Marian's conscience grew sore.
-Still, though she told herself that she could
-not carry out the plan and try to win Sir
-Anthony Pendered, it was a blow to see him
-prefer Joan.
-
-The symptoms of his admiration were
-equally displeasing to the girl. She was
-deliberately effacing herself for this episode;
-while it lasted, she was to be merely the
-"power behind the throne." Knowing that
-she was more strikingly beautiful and brilliant
-than Marian Fitzpatrick, she had studied
-how to reduce her fascinations, that Marian
-might outshine her. Evidently she had not
-entirely succeeded; but during that first
-call of Sir Anthony's, she quickly,
-surreptitiously changed a diamond-ring from her
-right hand to the "engaged" finger of her
-left, flourished the newly adorned member
-under his eyes, and spoke, with a conscious
-simper, of "going back some day to California
-to live." Sir Anthony did not misunderstand,
-and as he had not yet tumbled over
-the brink of that precipice whence a man falls
-into love, he readjusted his inclinations.
-After all, Mrs. Fitzpatrick was as pretty,
-he thought, and certainly more sympathetic.
-He was glad that Minnie was her sister, and
-not her child. Though he had always said
-he would not care to marry a widow, this
-case was different from any that he had
-imagined, for Mrs. Fitzpatrick had only been
-married a year or two when her husband died,
-and she had soon awakened from her girlish
-fancy for the man--so Miss Milton had
-guilelessly confided to him.
-
-Thanks to this, and much further
-"guilelessness" of the same kind on the part of
-the meek maiden, Sir Anthony Pendered
-discovered, before the sisters had been for many
-weeks tenants of Roseneath Park, that he
-was deeply in love with Marian Fitzpatrick.
-Accordingly, he proposed one June afternoon,
-amid the ruins of a storied castle overhanging
-the sea. Joan had got up a picnic to this
-place expressly to give him the opportunity
-which she felt triumphantly sure he was
-seeking, and she was naturally annoyed with
-Marian when she discovered that the young
-widow had asked for "time to think it over."
-
-"You little idiot! Why didn't you fall
-into his arms and say 'Yes--yes--*yes*'?"
-the girl demanded, in Marian's bedroom, when
-they had come home towards evening.
-
-"Because I love him, and because I'm a
-fraud!" exclaimed Marian. "Oh! I know
-what you must think of me. I haven't
-played straight with you, either. You've
-done everything for me. I was to make this
-match; and the rent of this place, and our
-horses and carriages, the payment of all the
-tradespeople on whom we've been practically
-living, depend on my catching the splendid
-'fish' you've landed for me. You've lent me
-a lot of money; and what you had left when
-we came here, you've been spending----"
-
-"I've spread it like very thin butter on
-very thick bread, to make the hundreds look
-like thousands. To carry off a big *coup* like
-this, one must have *some* ready money,"
-broke in Joan, with a queer little smile at
-her own cleverness, and the thought of where
-it would land her if Marian's "conscientious
-scruples" refused to be put to sleep. "We
-*shall* be in rather a scrape if you won't marry
-Sir Anthony--and you're made for each other,
-too. But never mind, we shall get out of it
-somehow. At worst, we can disappear."
-
-"And leave everything unpaid, and let him
-and everybody know we are adventuresses!"
-exclaimed Marian, breaking into tears.
-
-"Don't cry, dear; don't worry; and don't
-decide anything," said Joan. "I have an idea."
-
-She induced Marian to go to bed and nurse
-the violent headache which the battle between
-heart and conscience had brought on. When
-it was certain that Mrs. Fitzpatrick would
-not appear again that evening, she sent a
-little note by hand to Sir Anthony, as
-fortunately Torr Count was the next estate to
-Roseneath Park. "Do come over at once.
-It is very important that I should see you,"
-wrote the decorous Mercy.
-
-Sir Anthony Pendered was in the midst of
-dinner when the communication arrived,
-and to his sister's disgust he begged her to
-excuse him, as it was necessary to go out
-immediately on business.
-
-"That adventuress has sent for you!"
-Ellen Pendered fiercely exclaimed. "She
-has got you completely in her net. I don't
-believe those three are sisters. They don't
-look in the least alike, and it is all very well
-to say an ignorant nurse spoiled the child's
-accent. I have heard her talk more like
-a Cockney than a Californian. I tell you
-there is something wrong, very wrong, about
-them all."
-
-"I advise you not to tell any one else,
-then," answered Anthony Pendered furiously--"that
-is, unless you wish to break off for
-ever with me. This afternoon I asked the
-'adventuress,' as you dare to call her, to
-marry me, and she refused. I had to plead
-before she would even promise to think it
-over." With this he left his sister also to
-"think it over," and decide that, between two
-evils, it might be wise to choose the less.
-
-Marian's lover could not guess why Marian's
-younger sister had sent for him, and his
-anxiety increased when he saw the gravity
-of the girl's face.
-
-"Is Mar--is Mrs. Fitzpatrick ill?" he stammered.
-
-"A little, because she is unhappy; but you
-can make her well again--if you choose,"
-replied Joan inscrutably.
-
-"Of course I choose!" he almost indignantly protested.
-
-"Wait," said she, "and listen to what I
-have to say. Poor Marian is the victim of
-her own goodness and sweet nature; and
-because she swore to me that she would never
-tell the story of our past, she feels it would be
-wrong to marry you. I cannot let her suffer
-for Minnie and me, so I am now going to tell
-you, myself. But on this condition--if you
-do decide that you want her for your wife in
-spite of all, you will never once mention the
-subject to Marian. I will inform her that
-you know the truth and that she is not to
-speak of it to you. Is that a bargain?"
-
-"Yes; but you needn't tell me the story
-unless you like. I'm sure *she* is not to blame
-for anything," replied the man, who was now
-thoroughly in love with Marian, even to the
-point of wondering what he had ever seen in
-Mercy.
-
-"Certainly it is not she; but as she thinks
-it is, it amounts to the same thing. The
-facts are these: Dear, good Marian took
-pity on Minnie and me in a London boarding-house,
-where we chanced to meet after her
-widowhood. She had decided to come here
-to live, because she longed for the country,
-but had not meant to take as grand a house
-as this, as she had just found out that her
-dead husband had spent most of her fortune.
-I implored her to bring Minnie and me to her
-new home, and give me a good chance of
-getting into society by introducing us as
-her sisters. She was rather a 'swell'--at
-least, she had married an 'Honourable,' and
-we were nobodies. The poor darling finally
-consented to handicap herself with us. I
-had a little money, too, which had--er--come
-to me through a lucky investment, and
-I was so anxious to live at Roseneath Park
-that I made Marian (who is most unbusiness-like)
-believe that together we would have
-enough to take the place. I am supposed to
-be practical, and so the management of
-everything has been left to me. I have paid
-scarcely anything, except the servants' wages,
-so you see what I have brought my poor
-Marian down to. The only atonement I
-can make is to try and save her happiness
-by confessing my wrongdoing to you and
-begging that you will not visit it on her."
-
-"I certainly will not do that," said Sir
-Anthony Pendered quickly. "As you say, her
-one fault has been a kindness of heart almost
-amounting to weakness, which, in my eyes,
-makes her more lovable than ever. As for
-the loss of her money, that matters nothing
-to me. I have more than I want, and----"
-
-"You'll pay everything, without betraying
-me to Marian? Oh! I don't deserve it; but
-*do* say you will do that, and I will relieve you
-of my presence near your *fiancée* as soon as
-possible, as a reward. I know that, after
-what I have told you, it would be an
-embarrassment to you to see me with Marian,
-because as you are *very* chivalrous, you could
-not let people know I was not really her
-sister. I will disappear, and every one can
-think I have been suddenly called out to
-my Californian lover to be married."
-
-"Doesn't he exist?" questioned Sir
-Anthony, looking at her "engaged" finger
-and thinking of the matrimonial schemes
-she had just confessed.
-
-"Not in California. But as I haven't been
-a success here, I may decide to be true to
-the person who gave me this ring." (She
-had bought it herself.) "Now that I've
-promised to go out of Marian's life for ever,
-you'll guard her happiness by seeing that
-everything is straightened here--financially?"
-
-"I shall be only too delighted, if you will
-tell me how to manage it without my name
-appearing in the matter."
-
-"We--ll, if you'd trust the money to me,
-I'd use it honestly to pay our debts, and give
-you all the receipts."
-
-"So it shall be."
-
-"You're a--a brick, Sir Anthony. The
-only difficulty left then is about poor little
-Minnie, of whom Marian is really very fond.
-People might gossip if Marian let her youngest
-sister go back to California with me; for as
-we are supposed to be so nearly related,
-surely it would be better to save a scandal and
-let--well, let sleeping sisters lie?"
-
-"If Marian is truly fond of Minnie, there
-will be plenty of room for the child at Torr
-Court, and she will be welcome to stay there,
-as far as I am concerned. I must say,
-Miss--er--Milton, that I think the child will be
-better off under our guardianship than in
-the care of her real sister."
-
-"You *are* good, and I quite agree with you,"
-responded Joan meekly, far from resenting
-his look of stern reproach. "When you've
-trusted me with that money to pay things,
-and I hand you the receipts, I'll hand you
-also a written undertaking never to trouble
-you or--Lady Pendered. You would like
-me to do that, wouldn't you?"
-
-"I--er--perhaps something of the kind
-might be advisable," murmured Sir Anthony.
-
-When he had gone, the girl chuckled and
-clapped her hands. Then she ran to a
-looking-glass. "You're not exactly stupid,
-my dear," she apostrophised her saintly
-reflection. "You've provided splendidly for
-Marian and you've saved her sensitive
-conscience. *Her* slate is clean. As for Minnie,
-she will be all right until the time comes,
-if it ever does, that you can do better for her.
-As for yourself--well, you can leave Marian
-a couple of hundred for pocket-money, and
-still get out of this with something on which
-to start again. You've finished with Mercy
-Milton, thank goodness! and--it *will* be a
-relief to do your hair another way."
-
-Two days later, Joan Carthew had turned
-her back upon Toragel, and Mrs. Fitzpatrick's
-engagement to Sir Anthony Pendered was
-announced.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VII--The Woman Who Knew
-===============================
-
-Joan went straight from Cornwall to
-London and the Bloomsbury boarding-house
-in which some of her curiously earned
-money was invested. All was to begin
-over again now; but to the girl this idea
-brought inspiration rather than discouragement,
-for the world was still her oyster, if
-she could open it, and experience had already
-taught her some dexterity in the use of the
-knife. At this house in Woburn Place
-she had the right to live without paying,
-while she "looked round," and Miss Witt,
-who owed her present position to Joan, was
-only too delighted to welcome her benefactress.
-
-The place was doing well, and the corner
-of difficulty had been turned; this was the
-news the manager-housekeeper had to give
-Joan. Every room but one was full, and so
-far the boarders seemed to be "good pay,"
-with perhaps a single exception.
-
-"There's only the little top floor back
-that's empty," cheerfully went on Miss Witt.
-"Of course, I will take that and give you mine."
-
-"You'll do nothing of the sort, my dear
-woman," said Joan. "I like running up
-and down stairs. It does me good. Besides,
-I'd rather be at the back. There's a tree,
-or something that once tried hard to be a
-tree, to look at, as I know well, for the room
-used to be mine; so there's no use talking
-any more about that matter--it's settled.
-You stay where you are, and I will rise, like
-cream, to the top. Now tell me about
-this doubtful person you are afraid won't
-pay. Is it a man or a woman?"
-
-"A woman," replied Miss Witt, "and
-one of the strangest beings I ever saw. It
-is a great comfort to me that you are here,
-miss, for you can decide what is to be done
-about her. She hasn't paid her board for a
-fortnight, but she keeps pleading that as
-soon as she is well, and can go out, she will
-get remittances which have been delayed."
-
-"Oh, she is ill, then?"
-
-"So she says. But I'm not sure, miss,
-it isn't just an excuse to work upon my
-compassion, for why should she have to go
-out for remittances? She stops in her room,
-lying upon a sofa, and makes a deal of bother
-with her meals being carried up so many
-pairs of stairs, though it's hardly worth
-while her having them at all, she eats so
-little. Yet she doesn't look a bit different
-from what she did when she was supposed
-to be well and going about as much like
-anybody else as one of her sort could *ever* do."
-
-"What do you mean?" asked Joan,
-whose curiosity was fired.
-
-"Only that she is, and was, more a ghost
-than a human being, with her great, hollow,
-black eyes, like burning coals, set deep under
-her thick eyebrows and overhanging
-forehead; with her thin cheeks--why, miss,
-they almost meet in the middle--her yellow-white
-skin, her tall, gliding figure and stealthy
-way of walking, so that you never hear a
-sound till she's at your back."
-
-"Queer kind of boarder," commented Joan.
-
-"That she is, miss; and when she applied
-for a room, I would have said we were full
-up, but in those days we had several of our
-best rooms empty, and, strange as she was,
-her clothes were so good, and the luggage
-on the four-wheeler waiting outside was so
-promising, as you might say, that it did
-seem a pity to send away two guineas a
-week because Providence had given it a
-scarecrow face. So I showed her the best
-back room on the top floor----"
-
-"Next to mine," cut in Joan.
-
-"If you will have it so, miss; and there
-she's been for the last six weeks, not having
-paid a penny since the end of the first month."
-
-"What is the ghost's name and age?"
-the girl went on with her catechism.
-
-"Her name, if one was to take her word,
-which I'm far from being certain of, is
-Mrs. Gone; and as for her age, miss, she might
-be almost anywhere between fifty and a
-hundred."
-
-"What a clever old lady!" laughed the
-girl. "Well, we can't turn the poor wretch
-away while she's ill, if she is ill, can we? I
-know too well what it is to be alone in the
-world and down on your luck, to be hard
-on anybody else, especially a woman. We
-must give Mrs. Gone the benefit of the doubt
-for a little while. But your description
-has quite interested me; I should like to see
-this ghost who doesn't walk."
-
-"The house is the same as yours, miss,"
-said Miss Witt. "You have the right to
-go into her room at any time, more
-particularly as she hasn't paid for it."
-
-"Perhaps I'll carry up her dinner this
-evening, by way of an excuse," returned
-Joan--"if you think she could bear the
-shock of seeing a strange face."
-
-Upon this, Miss Witt, who adored the
-girl, protested that, in her opinion, the sight
-of such a face could only be a pleasure to
-any person and in any circumstances. Joan
-laughed at the compliment, but she did not
-forget her intention. Mrs. Gone's meals were
-usually taken up a few minutes before the
-gong summoned the guests to the dining-room,
-because it was easier to spare a servant
-then than later, and it was just after the
-dressing-bell had rung that the girl knocked
-at the "ghost's" door.
-
-Joan was surprised to find her heart
-quickening its beats as she waited for a
-bidding to "Come in!" One would think
-that a sight of this old woman who would
-not pay her board was an exciting event!
-She smiled at herself, but the smile faded
-as she threw open the door in answer to a
-faint murmur on the other side. Miss Witt's
-sketch of Mrs. Gone had not been an exaggeration.
-
-There she lay on a sofa by the window,
-her face gleaming white in the twilight;
-and it was a wonderful face. A shiver went
-creeping up and down Joan's spine, as a flame
-leaped out from the shadowy hollows of
-two sunken eyes to hers.
-
-"This woman has been some one in particular--some
-one extraordinary," the girl thought
-quickly; and as politely as if she had
-addressed a duchess, she explained her intrusion.
-"The servants were busy, and I offered
-to carry up your dinner," Joan said. "I
-arrived only to-day; and as Miss Witt
-looks upon me as a sort of proprietor, she
-told me how ill you have been. I hope
-you are better."
-
-The old woman with the strange face
-looked steadily at the beautiful girl in the
-pretty, simple, evening frock which was to
-grace the boarding-house dinner. "Did Miss
-Witt tell you nothing else?" she asked, in a
-voice which would have made the fortune
-of a tragic actress in the death scene of some
-aged queen.
-
-"She told me that she was afraid you
-were in trouble," promptly answered Joan,
-who had her own way of dressing the truth.
-By this time the girl had entered the room,
-set the tray on a table near the sofa, and
-taking a rose from her bodice, laid it on
-the pile of plates. This she did on the
-impulse of the moment, not with a preconceived
-idea of effect, and she was rewarded
-by a slight softening of the tense muscles
-round the once handsome mouth.
-
-"I hope you like roses?" she asked.
-
-"Yes," Mrs. Gone answered brusquely.
-"Why do you give it to me?"
-
-"Because I'm sorry you are ill, and
-perhaps lonely," said Joan, able for once to
-account for an action without a single mental
-reserve. "I have had a good deal of worry
-in my life, and can sympathise with others,
-as I told Miss Witt when she spoke of you.
-One reason why I came was to say that you
-needn't distress yourself about your indebtedness
-to this house. Try to get well, and
-pay at your convenience. You shall not be pressed."
-
-Joan had not meant to say all this when
-she arranged to have a sight of Mrs. Gone.
-She had merely wished to satisfy her
-curiosity; but now she felt impelled to utter
-these words of encouragement--why, she
-did not know, for she had not conceived
-any sudden fancy for the sinister old woman.
-On the contrary, the white face, with its
-burning eyes and secretive mouth, inspired
-her with something like fear. A woman
-with such a face could not have many sweet,
-redeeming graces of character or heart.
-There was, to supersensitive nerves, an
-atmosphere of evil as well as mystery about her;
-but though Joan felt this, it gave a keener
-edge to her interest.
-
-"Thank you," said Mrs. Gone. "You are
-kind, as well as pretty. I do not like young
-people usually, but I might learn to like
-you. I hope you will come again."
-
-The words were a dismissal and a compliment.
-Joan accepted them as both. She
-promised to repeat her visit, and after lighting
-the shaded lamp on the table, left Mrs. Gone
-to eat her dinner.
-
-The girl would have given much to lift
-the veil of mystery wrapped about this
-woman's past and personality. She even
-boasted to herself that she would find
-some way, sooner or later, at least to peep
-under its edge; but day after day passed,
-and though she went often to Mrs. Gone's
-room, and was always thanked for her kind
-attentions, she seemed no nearer to attaining
-her object than at first. Beyond occupying
-a room which she did not pay for, Mrs. Gone
-was not an expensive guest. She ate almost
-nothing; and when Joan had been in Woburn
-Place for a week, the white face with its
-burning eyes had become so drawn with
-suffering that in real compassion the girl
-offered to call a doctor at her own expense.
-But Mrs. Gone would not consent. "I hate
-doctors," she said. "No one could tell me
-more about myself than I know."
-
-The girl's own affairs were absorbing
-enough, for she saw no new opening yet
-for her ambition; still, she found time to
-think a great deal about Mrs. Gone. "Am
-I a soft-hearted idiot, allowing myself to be
-imposed upon by a professional 'sponge'?"
-she wondered; "or is there something in
-my odd feeling that I shall be rewarded
-for all I do for this extraordinary woman?"
-
-Such questions were passing through her
-mind one night when she had gone to bed
-late, after being out at the theatre. She had
-been in Woburn Place eight days, and was
-growing impatient, for none of the boarders
-were of the kind to be used as "stepping-stones,"
-and none of the Society and financial
-papers, which she studied, afforded any
-hopeful suggestion for another phase of her
-career. To be sure, the young man with
-whom she had consented to go to the theatre
-was employed as a reporter for a great
-London daily, and she had been "nice"
-to him, with the vague idea that she might
-somehow be able to profit by his infatuation;
-but at present she did not see her way, and
-it appeared that she was wasting sweetness
-on the desert air.
-
-"I suppose," Joan said to herself, turning
-over her hot pillow, "that if I were an
-ordinary girl, I might be contented to go on as I
-am. I can live here for nothing, and get
-enough interest on the money I've put into
-this concern to buy clothes and pay my
-way about, with strict economy. All the
-men in the house are in love with me; and
-if they were more interesting, that might
-be amusing. But I'm not born to be
-contented with small people or things. I don't
-want clothes. I want creations. I don't
-want the admiration of young men from
-the City. I want to be appreciated by
-princes. I believe I must have been a
-princess in another state of existence, for I
-always feel that the best of everything is
-hardly good enough for me."
-
-As she thought this, half laughing, there
-came a sound from the next room--that
-room which might have been the grave of the
-strange woman who occupied it, so dead
-was the silence which reigned there day and
-night. Never before had Joan heard the
-least noise on the other side of the dividing
-wall, but now she was startled by a crash as
-of breaking glass, followed by the dull, soft
-thud which could only have been made by
-the fall of a human body. Joan sat up,
-her heart thumping, and it gave a frightened
-bound as a groan came brokenly to her ears.
-
-She waited no longer, but slipped her bare
-feet into a pair of satin *mules*, flung on her
-dressing-gown, and in another moment was
-out of her room and in the dark passage,
-fumbling for the handle of the other door.
-
-Mrs. Gone kept her door unlocked in the
-daytime, perhaps to save herself the trouble
-of rising to admit servants, or her only
-visitor, Joan Carthew; but the girl feared
-that it might not be so at night, and that
-before she could penetrate the mystery of
-the fall and the groan, the whole house
-would have to be disturbed. She was
-relieved, therefore, to find that the door yielded
-to her touch. Pushing it open, she listened
-for an instant, but only the dead silence
-throbbed in her ears.
-
-As she got into her dressing-gown, with
-characteristic presence of mind Joan had
-caught up a box of matches and put it into
-her pocket. The room was as dark as the
-passage outside, and the girl struck a match
-before crossing the threshold. The little
-flame leaped and brightened. Something on
-the floor glimmered white in the darkness,
-and Joan did not need to bend down to
-know what it was.
-
-The gas was close to the door, and she
-lighted it with the dying match, which burnt
-her fingers. Then she saw clearly what had
-happened. In tottering uncertainly across
-the floor, Mrs. Gone had knocked over a
-small table holding a china candlestick, a
-water-bottle, and a goblet. She had fallen,
-and after uttering that one groan which had
-crept to Joan's ears, she had lost consciousness.
-
-The girl's quick eyes sought for an
-explanation of the catastrophe. The long, white
-figure lay at some distance from the bed, and
-near the mantel. On the mantel stood a
-curiously shaped, dark green bottle, which
-Joan had once been requested to give to
-Mrs. Gone. She had seen a few drops of some
-colourless liquid poured into a wineglass of
-water; and when it had been swallowed, the
-ghastly pallor of the face had changed to a
-more natural tint. Mrs. Gone had then
-said that she took the medicine when very
-ill. If she used it oftener, its effect would
-disappear, and she would have nothing left
-to turn to at the worst.
-
-"It was that bottle she was trying to
-find in the dark," Joan guessed. "She
-must have been too ill to try and light the
-gas. Now, how much was it that I saw her
-pour out? It might have been ten drops--no more."
-
-So thinking, the girl filled a glass on the
-wash-handstand a third full of water,
-measured ten drops of the medicine with a steady
-hand, and raising Mrs. Gone's head, put the
-tumbler to her lips. The strong teeth seemed
-clenched, but some of the liquid must have
-passed their barrier, for the dark eyes opened
-wide and looked up into Joan's face.
-
-"Too late----" the woman panted, with
-a gurgling in the throat which choked her
-words. "Dying--now. Wish that--you--you
-have been kind--only one in the world.
-My secret--you might have--Lord Northmuir
-would have given----"
-
-The voice trailed away into silence. The
-gurgle died into a rattle; the woman's
-breast heaved and was still. Her eyes had
-not closed, but though they stared into
-Joan's, the spark of life behind their windows
-had gone out. Mrs. Gone was dead, and
-had taken her secret with her into the unknown.
-
-Joan had never seen death before, but
-there was no mistaking it. Her first impulse
-was to run downstairs, call Miss Witt and a
-young doctor who had his office and
-bedroom on the dining-room floor. Nevertheless,
-when she had laid the heavy head gently
-down and sprung to her feet, she remained
-standing.
-
-For some minutes she stood motionless,
-almost rigid, her lips pressed together, her
-eyes hard and bright. Then she struck
-one hand lightly upon the other, exclaiming
-half aloud: "I'll do it!"
-
-It seemed certain by this time that no one
-had heard the crash of glass and the fall
-which had alarmed her, for the house was
-still. Nevertheless, Joan tiptoed to the door
-and bolted it. When she had done this,
-she opened all the drawers of the dressing-table
-and searched them carefully for papers.
-Discovering none, she left everything exactly
-as she had found it. Next she examined
-the pockets of the three or four dresses
-hanging in the wardrobe, but they were limp
-and empty. There were still left the leather
-portmanteau and handbag which had
-appealed to Miss Witt's respectful admiration.
-Both were locked, but Joan's instinct led
-her to look under the pillows on the bed, and
-there lay a key-ring. She was able to open
-portmanteau and bag, but not a paper of any
-kind was to be seen, and the girl recalled a
-remark of Miss Witt's, that never since
-Mrs. Gone had become a boarder in Woburn
-Place had she been known to receive or send
-a letter.
-
-Having assured herself that no information
-was to be gained among the dead woman's
-possessions, Joan unlocked the door and
-went softly downstairs to rouse Miss Witt.
-She justified what she had done by reason
-of Mrs. Gone's last words, for she believed
-that the dead woman would have made her a
-present of the secret if she could.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VIII--Lord Northmuir's Young Relative
-=============================================
-
-Awakened and informed of what had
-happened, the housekeeper called the
-doctor, who looked at the body and certified
-that death had resulted from failure of the
-heart, which must have been long diseased.
-Joan paid for a good oak coffin and a
-decent funeral. She bought a grave at Kensal
-Green and ordered a neat stone to be erected.
-If she had previously earned Mrs. Gone's
-gratitude, she felt that she had now merited
-any reward which might accrue in future,
-and the curious, erasible tablet that did
-duty as her conscience was wiped clear.
-
-The morning after Mrs. Gone's funeral,
-the girl put on her favourite frock of grey
-cloth, with a hat to match, which had been
-bought at one of the most fashionable shops
-in Monte Carlo. This costume, with grey
-gloves, grey shoes, and a grey chiffon parasol,
-ivory-handled, gave Joan an air of quiet
-smartness, a combination particularly
-appropriate for the adventure which she had
-planned. She hired a decorous brougham
-and said to the coachman: "Drive to
-Northmuir House, Belgrave Square."
-
-It was but ten o'clock, and, as Joan had
-gleaned some information concerning the
-habits of the occupant, she was confident
-that he would be at home. Mrs. Gone had
-not been dead two hours when the girl
-began searching through her own scrapbook,
-compiled of cuttings taken from Society
-papers. Whenever she came across the
-description of any important member of the
-aristocracy--his or her home life, manners,
-fancies, and ways--she cut it out and pasted
-it into this book, in case it should become
-valuable for reference. The moment that
-the dying woman uttered the name of
-Northmuir, Joan's memory jumped to a paragraph
-(one of the first that had gone into the
-scrapbook), and as soon as she could shut
-herself up in the little back room, she had
-consulted her authority.
-
-The Earl of Northmuir was, according to
-the paper from which the cutting had been
-clipped, still the handsomest man in England,
-though now long past middle age. Once he had
-been among the most popular also, but for
-some years he had lived more or less in
-retirement, owing to illness and family
-bereavements, seldom leaving his fine old town
-house in Belgrave Square.
-
-"He'll be in London, and he won't be the
-sort of man to go out before noon," Joan
-said to herself.
-
-Her heart was beating more quickly than
-usual, but her face was calm and untroubled,
-as she stood on the great porch at Northmuir
-House, asking a footman in sober livery if
-Lord Northmuir were at home.
-
-The girl in the grey dress and grey hat,
-with large, soft ostrich feathers, might have
-been a young princess. Whatever she was,
-she merited civility, and the servant, who
-could not wholly conceal surprise, politely
-invited her to enter, while he inquired if
-his Lordship could receive a visitor. "What
-name shall I say?" he asked.
-
-"Give him this, please," said Joan,
-handing the footman an envelope, addressed to
-"The Earl of Northmuir." Inside this
-envelope was a sheet of paper, blank,
-save for the words, "A messenger from
-Mrs. Gone, who is dead"; and the death
-notice was enclosed.
-
-With this envelope the man went away,
-leaving her to wait in a large and splendid
-drawing-room, where stiffness of arrangement
-betrayed the absence of a woman's taste.
-
-Joan looked about appreciatively, yet
-critically. Then, when she had gained an
-impressionist picture of the room, she glanced
-at the jewelled watch on her wrist, a present
-from Lady John Bevan after the sale of the
-*Titania*.
-
-What if Lord Northmuir had never known
-the dead woman under the name of Gone?
-What if--there were many things which
-might go wrong, and Joan had put her
-whole stake on a single chance. If she had
-been mistaken--but as her mind played
-among surmises, the footman returned.
-
-"His Lordship will see you in his study,
-if you will kindly come this way," the servant
-announced.
-
-Joan rose with quiet dignity and followed
-the man along a pillared hall to a closed
-door. "The lady, my lord," murmured the
-footman, in opening it. Joan was left alone
-with a singularly handsome old man, who
-sat in a huge cushioned chair by the
-fireplace. It was summer still, but a fire of
-ship-logs sparkled with changing rainbow
-lights on the stone hearth. In a thin hand,
-Lord Northmuir held an exquisitely bound
-book. He must have been more than sixty,
-but his features were of the cameo--fine,
-classic cut, of which the beauty, like that
-of old marble, never dies, and it was easy
-to see why he had once borne a reputation
-as the handsomest man in England. It was
-easy to see also, by his eyes as they catalogued
-each item of Joan's beauty, that he had
-been a gallant man, not blind to the charms
-of women. Nevertheless, his voice was cold
-as he spoke to the unexpected visitor.
-
-"I haven't the pleasure of knowing your
-name, or why you have honoured me by
-calling," he said. "Forgive my not rising.
-I am rather an invalid. Pray sit down.
-There is something I can do for you?"
-
-"Several things, Lord Northmuir," returned
-the girl, taking the chair his gesture had indicated.
-
-"You will tell me what they are?"
-
-"I am anxious to tell you. In the first
-place, I wish to be a relation of yours, and
-not a poor relation. I wish to have a thousand
-pounds a year, either permanently or until
-my marriage, should I become the wife of a
-rich man through your introduction."
-
-Lord Northmuir stared at the girl, and if
-there were not genuine astonishment in his
-eyes, he was a clever actor. "You are a
-handsome young woman," he said slowly, when she
-had finished, "but I begin to be afraid that
-your mind is unfortunately--er--affected."
-
-"There is a weight upon it," Joan replied.--"the
-weight of your secret. It's so heavy
-that unless you are very kind, I shall be
-tempted to throw the burden off by laying
-it upon others."
-
-Now the blood hummed in her ears. If
-she had built a house of cards, this was the
-moment when it would topple, and bury
-her ambition in its ignominious downfall.
-But Lord Northmuir's slow speech had
-quickened her hope, for she said to herself that
-it was not spontaneous; and gazing keenly
-into his face, she saw the blood stain his
-forehead. She had staked on the right chance,
-yet the risk was not past. Her game was
-the game of bluff, but its success depended
-upon the man with whom she had to deal.
-
-"I do not understand what you are talking
-about," he said.
-
-"I dare say I haven't made my meaning
-clear," answered Joan, half rising. "Perhaps
-I'd better explain to my solicitor, and
-get him to write a letter----"
-
-"You are nothing more nor less than a
-common blackmailer," Lord Northmuir
-exclaimed, bringing down his white hand on
-the arm of his chair.
-
-"I may be nothing less, but I am a good
-deal more than a common one," retorted
-Joan, surer of her ground. "I will prove
-that, if you force me to do it."
-
-"Who are you?" he broke out abruptly.
-
-"I am a Woman Who Knows," she replied.
-"There was another Woman Who
-Knew. She called herself Gone. She is dead,
-and I have come. I have come to stay."
-
-"Don't you understand that I can hand
-you over to the police?" demanded Lord
-Northmuir, with difficulty controlling his
-voice so that it could not be heard by possible
-listeners outside the door.
-
-"Yes; and I understand that I can hand
-your secret over to the police. They would
-know how to use it."
-
-He flushed again, and Joan saw that her
-daring shot had told. For the instant he had
-no answer ready, and she seized the
-opportunity to speak once more. "You can do
-better for yourself than hand me over to the
-police. There need be no trouble, if you
-will realise that I am not a common person,
-and not to be treated as such."
-
-"Again I ask: Who are you?" he cried.
-
-Joan risked another shot in the dark.
-"Can't you make a guess?" she asked,
-with a malicious suggestion of hidden
-meaning in her tone.
-
-An expression of horror and surprise passed
-over Lord Northmuir's handsome face,
-devastating it as a marching tornado devastates
-a landscape. It was evident that he had
-"made a guess," and been thunderstruck by
-its answer. Joan's curiosity was so strongly
-roused that it touched physical pain. Almost,
-she would have been ready to give one of
-her pretty fingers to know the secret.
-
-"Do you still wish to ask questions?"
-she inquired.
-
-"Heaven help me, no! What is it that
-you want?"
-
-"I have told you already. If I insisted
-on all I have a right to claim, you would
-not be where you are."
-
-She watched him. He grew deathly and
-bowed his white head. Joan felt sorry for
-the man now that he was at her mercy; but
-her imagination played with the secret, as a
-child plays with a prism in the sunshine.
-Its flashing colours allured her. "Oh! if I
-only *knew* something," she thought,
-"something which would hold in law, and could
-go through the courts, where might I not
-stand? I might reach one of the highest
-places a woman can fill. But it's no use;
-I must take what I can get, and be thankful;
-and, anyway, I can't help pitying him
-a little, though I'm sure he doesn't deserve it.
-He's old and tired, and I won't make him
-suffer more than is necessary for the game."
-
-Joan again named her terms, this time
-with much ornamental detail. She was to
-be a newly discovered orphan cousin. Her
-name was to be, as it had been in
-Cornwall, Mercy Milton. She was to be
-invited to visit, for an indefinite length
-of time, at Northmuir House. Her noble
-relative was to exert himself to the extent
-of giving entertainments to introduce her
-to his most influential and highly placed
-friends. He was also to make her an
-allowance of a thousand pounds a year.
-
-"Don't think, if you gamble away
-as--as the other did, that I will go beyond this
-bargain, for I will not!" cried Lord Northmuir,
-with a testy desire to assert himself
-and show that he was not wholly to be cowed.
-
-"I don't gamble, except with Fate," said Joan.
-
-This exclamation of his explained one
-or two things which had been dark. She
-guessed now why Mrs. Gone, evidently used
-to luxuries, had been reduced to living on
-the charity of a boarding-house keeper, and
-why it had been necessary to wait until she
-should be well enough to go out before she
-could obtain "remittances."
-
-Having concluded her arrangement with
-Lord Northmuir, and settled to become his
-relative and guest, Joan went back in her
-brougham to Woburn Place. She told Miss
-Witt that she had been called away, packed
-her things, left such as she would not want
-in Belgrave Square in boxes at the boarding-house,
-delighted the housekeeper with many
-gifts, and the following morning drove off with
-a pile of luggage on a cab. Turning the corner
-of Woburn Place into the next street, she
-also turned a corner in her career, and for
-the third time ceased to be Joan Carthew.
-
-She had chosen to take up her lately laid
-down part of Mercy Milton for two reasons.
-One was, that in this character as she had
-played it in Cornwall, with meekly parted
-hair, soft, downcast eyes, simple manners
-and simple frocks, she was not likely to be
-recognised by any one who had known the
-dashing and magnificent Miss Jenny Mordaunt;
-while if she should come across Cornish
-acquaintances, there was nothing in her
-new position which need invalidate the story
-of Lady Pendered's gentle sister.
-
-If Lord Northmuir had looked forward
-with dread to the intrusion of the adventuress
-whom he was forced to receive, he soon
-found that, beyond the galling knowledge
-of his bondage, he had nothing disagreeable
-to fear. The young cousin did not
-attempt to interfere with his habits after
-he had provided her with acquaintances,
-who increased after the manner of a
-"snowball" stamp competition. The two
-usually lunched and dined together, and--at
-first--that was all. But Miss Mercy
-Milton made herself charming at table, never
-referred by word or look to the loathed
-secret, and was so tactful that, to his
-extreme surprise, almost horror, the man found
-himself looking forward to the hours of
-meeting. Joan was not slow to see this;
-indeed, she had been working up to it. When
-the right time came, she volunteered to help
-Lord Northmuir with his letters (he had
-no secretary) and to read aloud. At the
-end of six months she had become indispensable,
-and he would have wondered how
-existence had been possible without his
-treasure had he dwelt upon the dangerous
-subject at all. If, however, the blackmailer's
-instalment in the household had turned
-out an agreeable disappointment to the
-blackmailed, it was a disappointment of
-another kind to the author of the plot. Joan
-Carthew did not find life in Belgrave Square
-half as amusing as she had pictured it, and
-though she was surrounded by luxury which
-might be hers as long as Lord Northmuir
-lived, each day she grew more restless and
-discontented.
-
-She had found society on the Riviera
-delightful, but the butterfly crowd which
-fluttered between Nice and Monte Carlo had
-little resemblance to that with which she
-came in contact as Lord Northmuir's cousin.
-Jenny Mordaunt could do much as she
-pleased--at worst she was put down as a
-"mad American, my dear"; but Mercy
-Milton had the family dignity to live up to.
-Lord Northmuir's adopted relative could
-not afford to be "cut" by the primmest
-dowager; and being an ideal, conventional
-English girl in the best society did not suit
-Joan's roaming fancies.
-
-It was supposed that she would be Lord
-Northmuir's heiress; consequently mothers
-of eligible young men were charming to her,
-which would have been convenient if Joan
-had happened to want one of their sons.
-But not one of the men who sent her flowers
-and begged for "extras" at dances would
-she have married if he had been the last
-existing specimen of his sex. This was
-annoying, for in planning her campaign, Joan
-had resolved to marry well and settle
-satisfactorily for life. Now, however, she found
-that it was simpler to decide upon a mercenary
-marriage in the abstract than when it became
-a personal question.
-
-At the close of a year with Lord Northmuir
-she had saved seven hundred pounds,
-and at last, after a sleepless night, she made
-up her mind to take a step which was, in a
-way, a confession of failure.
-
-She went to Lord Northmuir's study as
-usual in the morning, but this time it was
-not to act as reader or amanuensis.
-
-"It's a year to-day since I came," she
-said abruptly, with a purposeful look on
-her face which the man felt was ominous.
-
-"Yes," he answered. "A strange year,
-but not an unhappy one. What I regarded
-as a curse has turned out a blessing. I
-should miss the albatross now if it were to
-be taken off my neck."
-
-"I'm sorry for that," said Joan, "for
-the albatross has revived and intends to fly
-away."
-
-"What! You will marry?"
-
-"No. I'm tired of being conventional.
-I've decided to relieve you of my presence
-here; and you can forget me, except when,
-each quarter, you sign a cheque for two
-hundred and fifty pounds."
-
-Lord Northmuir's handsome face grew
-almost as white as when she had first
-announced her claim upon him. "I don't
-want to forget you. I can't forget you!"
-he stammered. "If I could, I would publish
-the whole truth; but that is impossible, for
-the honour of the name. You have made
-me fond of you--made me depend upon
-you. Why did you do that, if you meant
-to leave me alone?"
-
-"I didn't mean it at first," replied Joan
-frankly. "I thought I should be 'in clover'
-here, and so I have been; but too much
-clover upsets the digestion. I must go, Lord
-Northmuir. I can't stand it any longer. I'm
-pining for adventures."
-
-"Have you fallen in love?"
-
-"No. I wish I had. I've been trying in vain."
-
-"A year ago I would not have believed
-it possible that I should make you such an
-offer, but you have wrought a miracle. You
-came to blackmail, you remained to bless.
-Stay with me, my girl, till I die, and not
-only shall you be remembered in my will, but
-I will increase your allowance from one
-thousand to two thousand a year. I can
-afford to do this, since you have become
-the one luxury I can't live without."
-
-"I was just beginning to say that, if you
-would let me go without a fuss, I would
-take five hundred instead of a thousand a
-year."
-
-"But now I have shown you my heart,
-you see that offer does not appeal to me."
-
-Joan broke out laughing; this upsetting
-of the whole situation was so humorous. A
-sudden reckless impulse seized her. She
-could not resist it.
-
-"Lord Northmuir, you will change your
-mind when I have told you something," she
-said. "I have played a trick on you. I
-have no connection with your family, and
-know no more about your secret than I
-know what will be in to-morrow's papers.
-Mrs. Gone, in dying, mentioned a secret
-and your name. I put two and two together,
-and they matched so well that I've lived on
-you for a year, bought lots of dresses, made
-crowds of friends, had heaps of proposals,
-and kept seven hundred pounds in hand.
-Now I think you will be willing to let me
-go; and you can lie easy and live happy
-for ever after."
-
-Having launched the thunderbolt, she
-would have left the room, but Lord Northmuir,
-old and invalided as he was, sprang
-from his chair like an ardent youth and
-caught her arm.
-
-"By Jove! you shan't leave me like
-that!" he cried. "You have made your
-first mistake, my dear. Instead of being
-in your power, you have put yourself in
-mine. I need fear you no longer. But as a
-trickster I love you no less than I did as a
-blackmailer. Indeed, I love you the more
-for your diabolical cleverness, you beautiful
-wretch! Stay with me, not as the little
-adopted cousin, living on charity, but as
-my wife, and mistress of this house. Or,
-if you will not, I shall denounce you to the
-police."
-
-For once, Joan was dumfounded. The
-tables had been turned upon her with a
-vengeance. She gasped, and could not answer.
-
-"You see, it is my turn to dictate terms
-now," said Lord Northmuir.
-
-Joan's breath had come back. "You are
-right," she returned, in a meek voice. "I
-have given you the reins. But--well, it
-would be something to be Countess of
-Northmuir."
-
-"Don't hope to be a widowed Countess,"
-chuckled the old man. "I am only sixty-nine,
-and for the last ten years I have taken
-good care of myself."
-
-"I count on nothing after this," said Joan.
-
-"You consent, then?"
-
-"How can I do otherwise?"
-
-Lord Northmuir laughed out in his triumph
-over her. "The notice of the engagement
-will go to the *Morning Post* immediately,"
-he said. "To-morrow, some of our friends
-will be surprised."
-
-But it was he who was surprised; for,
-when to-morrow came, Joan had run away.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER IX--A Journalistic Mission
-==================================
-
-It is like stating that the world is round
-to say that London is the best of
-hiding-places. It is the best, because there
-are many Londons, and one London knows
-practically nothing about any of the other
-Londons. When, therefore, Mercy Milton
-disappeared from Northmuir House,
-Belgrave Square, Joan Carthew promptly
-appeared at her old camping-ground, the
-boarding-house in Woburn Place.
-
-Joan was no longer penniless, and as far
-as Lord Northmuir was concerned, she was
-easy in her mind. A man of his stamp was
-unlikely to risk the much-prized "honour
-of his name" to seek her with detectives;
-while, unassisted, he would have to shrug his
-weary old shoulders and resign himself to
-loss and loneliness.
-
-But ambition kindled restlessness. She
-grudged wasting a moment when her fortune
-had to be made, her permanent place in
-life fixed. Besides, she was dissatisfied with
-her adventure in the house of Lord Northmuir.
-She had not come off badly, yet it
-galled her to remember that in self-defence
-she had been driven to confess her scheme
-to its victim, and that--this expedient not
-proving efficacious--she had eventually been
-forced to run away like the coward she was
-not. On the whole, she had to admit that
-if Lord Northmuir had not in the end got
-the better of her, he had come near to doing
-so. The sharp taste of failure was in her
-mouth, and the only way to be rid of it was
-to get the better of somebody else--somebody
-disagreeable, so that the sweets of
-success might be unmixed with bitterness.
-
-Existence as Lord Northmuir's adopted
-relative had been deadly dull; existence as
-his wife would have been worse; and the
-remembrance of boredom was too vivid
-still for Joan to regret what she had sacrificed.
-Nevertheless, she realised that it had been a
-sacrifice which she would not a little while
-ago have believed herself fool enough, or
-wise enough, to be capable of making. She
-wanted her reward, and that reward must
-mean new excitements, difficulties, and dangers.
-
-"I should like to do something big on a
-great London paper," she said to herself on
-the first night of her return to Woburn
-Place. "What fun to undertake a thrilling
-journalistic mission, and succeed better than
-any man! I wonder whether Mr. Mainbridge,
-who was a reporter on *The Planet*,
-is here still. He wasn't at dinner, but then
-he used often to be away. I must ask in the
-morning."
-
-Joan went to sleep with this resolve in
-her mind, and before breakfast she had
-carried it out. Mr. Mainbridge was still one
-of Miss Witt's boarders, and had often
-inquired after Miss Carthew. He had come
-in late last night, was now asleep, but would
-be down to luncheon, and there was no
-doubt that he would be delighted to see the
-object of his solicitude.
-
-All turned out as Miss Witt prophesied,
-and Joan was even nicer to the reporter
-than she had been before. He invited her
-to dine that evening at an Italian restaurant,
-and she consented. When they had come
-to the sweets, Mr. Mainbridge could control
-his pent-up feelings no longer, and was
-about to propose when Joan stopped him.
-
-"We are too poor to indulge in the luxury
-of being in love," said she, with a sweet
-frankness which took the sting from the
-rebuff and dimly implied hope for the future.
-"I shall not marry until I am earning as
-much money as--as the man I love. I
-could not be happy unless I were independent.
-Oh, Mr. Mainbridge! if you do care
-to please me, prove it by introducing me to
-the editor of your paper! I want to ask
-him for work."
-
-The stricken young man felt his throat
-suddenly dry. In his first acquaintance
-with Joan he had boasted of his "influence"
-with the powers that were upon that new
-and phenomenally successful daily, *The Planet*.
-As a matter of fact, the influence existed
-in Mainbridge's dreams, and there only.
-Sir Edmund Foster, the proprietor and
-editor, hardly knew him by sight, and
-probably would not recognise him out of Fleet
-Street. To ask such a favour as an
-introduction for a strange young girl, however
-attractive, was almost as much as the poor
-fellow's place was worth, but he could not
-bear to refuse Joan.
-
-"Tell Sir Edmund that I have information,
-important to the paper, for his private ear,"
-added the girl, reading her admirer's mind
-as if it had been a book.
-
-"But--but if--er--you haven't really
-anything which he----" stammered Mainbridge.
-
-"Oh, I have! I guarantee he shall be
-satisfied with me and not angry with you.
-Only I must see him alone. Tell him I come
-from"--Joan hesitated for an instant, but
-only for an instant--"from the Earl of
-Northmuir."
-
-Mainbridge was impressed by the name
-and her air of self-confidence. Encouraged,
-he promised to use every effort to bring
-about the introduction, if possible the very
-next day. If he succeeded, he would
-telegraph Joan the time of the appointment,
-which would certainly not be earlier than
-three in the afternoon, as Sir Edmund never
-appeared at the office until that hour.
-
-"Then I won't stop for the telegram and
-give him a chance to change his mind before
-I can drive from Woburn Place to Fleet
-Street," said Joan. "I will be at the office
-at three in the afternoon, and wait until
-something is settled, if I have to wait till
-three in the morning."
-
-The next day, after luncheon, Joan chose
-her costume with extreme care, as she
-invariably did when it was necessary to arm
-herself for conquest. Radiant in pale blue
-cloth edged with sable, she presented herself
-at the offices of *The Planet*. There was a
-waiting-room at the end of a long corridor,
-and there she was bidden to sit; but
-instead of remaining behind a closed door,
-as soon as her guide was out of sight she
-began walking up and down near the
-stairway where Sir Edmund Foster must sooner or
-later pass. She had never seen the famous
-man, but she remembered his photograph
-in one of the illustrated papers.
-
-Presently a tall, smooth-shaven, sallow
-man, with eagle features and bags under his
-keen eyes, came rapidly along the corridor,
-accompanied by a much younger, less
-impressive man, who might have been a secretary.
-Joan advanced, pretending to be absorbed
-in thought, then stood aside with a start of
-shy surprise and a look nicely calculated
-to express reverence of greatness. Sir
-Edmund Foster glanced at the apparition
-and let his eyes linger for a few seconds as
-his companion rang the bell of the lift, close
-to the wide stone stairway.
-
-"When he hears that there is a young
-woman waiting to see him, he will remember
-me, and the recollection may influence his
-decision," thought Joan, who did not
-under-value her beauty as an asset.
-
-Perhaps it fell out as she hoped (things
-often did), for she had not read more than
-three or four back numbers of *The Planet*,
-which lay on the waiting-room table, when
-Ralph Mainbridge, flushed and almost
-tremulous with excitement, came to say that Sir
-Edmund had consented to see her at once.
-
-Without seeming as much overpowered as
-he expected, the girl prepared to enter the
-presence of greatness. But she was not in
-reality as calm as she appeared. The
-thunderous whirr of the printing-machines had
-almost bereft her of the capacity for thought,
-just at the moment when she wished to think
-clearly. Her nerves were twanging like the
-strings of a violin which is out of tune, and
-it was an intense relief to be shot up in the
-alarmingly rapid lift to a quieter region.
-The rumbling roar was deadened on Sir
-Edmund's floor, and as the door of his private
-office closed on her, it was shut out altogether.
-
-"Miss Carthew, from Lord Northmuir,"
-the famous editor-proprietor said. "I believe
-you have some interesting information for
-me." He smiled with a certain dry benignity,
-for Joan was very pretty, and he was,
-after all, a man. "I think I saw you downstairs."
-
-"I saw you, Sir Edmund." Joan's manner
-was dignified now, rather than shy. "I
-trust you will not be angry, but within
-the last two hours everything has changed
-for me. Lord Northmuir, whom I know
-well through my cousin, Miss Mercy Milton,
-his ward (you may have heard of her; we
-are said to resemble each other), has now
-changed his mind about allowing the piece
-of information I meant for you to be
-published. He has forbidden his name to be
-used, but it was too late to stop that. I can
-only beg, for my cousin Miss Milton's sake
-more than my own, that you will not let the
-fact come to his ears; if it should, she will
-suffer."
-
-"You need not fear that," Sir Edmund
-reassured her; "but if you have no
-information to give me, Miss--er----"
-
-"I had to come and explain why I hadn't,"
-Joan cut in. "I hope you won't blame poor
-Mr. Mainbridge for putting you to this
-trouble. It isn't his fault, and he doesn't
-even know."
-
-"Who is Mr. Mainbridge? Oh, ah! yes,
-of course. Pray don't regard it as a trouble.
-Quite the contrary. But unfortunately, I----"
-
-"You would say you are a very busy man,"
-Joan threw into the editor's suggestive
-pause. "I won't take up much more of your
-time. But I want to say that, although I
-have nothing of value, as I hoped, to tell, I
-shall have later, if you will consent to engage
-me on your staff."
-
-Sir Edmund laughed. He evidently
-considered Joan a spoiled darling of Society
-with a new whim. "My dear young lady!"
-he exclaimed, "in what capacity, pray?
-We do not devote space to fashions, even in
-a Saturday edition. Would you come to us
-as a reporter, like your friend Mr. Mainbridge?"
-
-"As a special reporter," amended Joan.
-"I would undertake any mission of importance----"
-
-"There are none going begging on *The
-Planet*. But" (this soothingly by way of
-sugaring a dismissal) "you have only to
-get hold of something good and bring it to
-me. For instance, some nice, spicy little item
-as to the truth of the rumoured alliance
-between Russia and Japan. We would pay you
-quite well for that, you know, provided you
-gave it to us in time to publish ahead of any
-other paper."
-
-"How much would you pay me?" asked
-Joan, nettled at this chaffing tone of the
-famous man.
-
-"Enough to buy a new frock and perhaps
-a few hairpins; say a hundred pounds."
-
-"That isn't enough," said Joan; "I
-should want a thousand."
-
-Sir Edmund turned a sudden, keen gaze
-upon the girl; then his face relaxed. "We
-might rise to that. At all events, I'm safe
-in promising it."
-
-"It *is* a promise, then?"
-
-"Oh, certainly."
-
-"Thank you. Let me see if I understand
-clearly. I'm not quite the baby you think,
-Sir Edmund. I read the papers--yours
-especially--and take, I trust, an intelligent
-interest in the political situation. Now, the
-latest rumour is that Russia is secretly
-planning an understanding with Japan and
-China. What you would like to know is
-whether there is truth in the rumour, and
-what, in that event, England would do."
-
-"Exactly. That is what all the papers
-are dying to find out."
-
-"If you could get the official news before
-any of them, you would give the person who
-obtained it for you a thousand pounds.
-If, in addition, they, or one of them--let us
-say *The Daily Beacon*--got the *wrong* news
-on the same day, you would no doubt add
-five hundred to the original thousand; for
-revenge is sweet, even to an editor, I suppose,
-and *The Beacon* has, I have heard, contrived
-to be first in the field on one or two important
-occasions within the last few years."
-
-This allusion was a pin-prick in a sensitive
-place, for Joan was aware that *The Daily
-Beacon* and *The Planet* were deadly rivals
-as well as political opponents. Mainbridge
-had told her the tale of *The Planet's*
-humiliation by the enemy, and she had not forgotten.
-*The Beacon* had been able, at the very time
-when *The Planet* was arguing against their
-probability, to assert that certain political
-events would take place, and in time these
-statements had been justified, to the
-discomfiture of *The Planet*.
-
-Sir Edmund frowned slightly. "*The
-Daily Beacon* possesses exceptional advantages,"
-he sneered. "It is difficult for less
-favoured journals to compete with it for
-political information."
-
-"I believe I can guess what you refer to,"
-answered Joan. "I hear things, you know,
-from my cousin, Miss Milton." (This to
-shield Mainbridge.) "Lord Henry Borrowdaile,
-an Under Secretary of State, is a
-distant relative of Mr. Portheous, the
-proprietor of *The Daily Beacon*, and it is said
-that there has been a curious leakage of
-diplomatic secrets, once or twice, by which
-*The Beacon* profited."
-
-"You are a well-informed young lady."
-
-"I hope to earn your cheque as well as
-your compliment," said Joan. "Perhaps
-you will write it before many days have passed."
-
-"It must be before many days, if at all."
-
-"I understand that time presses, if you
-are to be first in the field, for the great secret
-can't be kept from the public for more than
-a week or ten days at most. But look
-here, Sir Edmund, would you go that extra
-five hundred if, on the day that your paper
-published the truth about the situation,
-*The Beacon* made a fool of itself by printing
-exactly the opposite?"
-
-"Yes," said the editor, "I would."
-
-"Well, we shall see what we shall see,"
-returned Joan. She then took leave of Sir
-Edmund, who was certainly not in a mood
-to blame Mainbridge for an introduction
-under false pretences, even if he were far
-from sure that charming Miss Carthew could
-accomplish miracles.
-
-As for Joan, her head was in a whirl.
-She wanted to do this thing more than she
-had ever wanted anything in her life, though
-it had not entered her head a few moments
-ago. She would not despise fifteen hundred
-pounds; but it was not of the money she
-was dreaming as she told her cabman to
-drive to Battersea Park, and keep on driving
-till ordered to stop. The strange girl could
-always collect and concentrate her thoughts
-while driving, and this was her object now.
-
-Joan had never met Lord Henry Borrowdaile,
-but during her year at Northmuir
-House she had known people who were
-friends or enemies of the young man and
-his wife. She had her own reason for
-listening with interest to intimate talk about the
-character and private affairs of persons who
-were important figures in the world, for at
-any time she might wish to use knowledge
-thus gained. She did not believe, from what
-she had heard, that Lord Henry Borrowdaile,
-son of the Marquis of Wastwater, was
-a man to betray State secrets for money.
-He was "bookish" and literary, and though
-he was not rich, neither did he covet riches.
-But he did adore his beautiful young wife,
-and was said by those who knew him to be
-as wax in her hands. She was popular, as
-well as pretty; was vain of being the leader
-of a very gay set, and dressed as if her
-reputation depended upon being the best-gowned
-woman in London. Because Lady Henry
-posed as an *ingénue*, who scarcely knew
-politics from polo, Joan suspected her. "It
-is she who worms out secrets from her husband
-and sells them to Portheous," Joan said
-to herself. "Oh! to be a fly on the wall
-in the Borrowdailes' house for the next week!"
-
-This wish was so vivid, that like a
-lightning flash it seemed to illumine the dim
-corners of the girl's brain. She suddenly
-recalled another story of the inestimable
-Mainbridge's, told in connection with the
-rivalry of *The Daily Beacon* and *The Planet*.
-
-"An eminent statesman's servant told the
-secret of his master's intended resignation,"
-she said to herself. "Why shouldn't a
-servant at the Borrowdailes'----"
-
-She did not finish out the thought at the
-moment; the vista it opened was too wide
-to be taken in at a glance. But after driving
-for an hour round and round Battersea
-Park, the patient cabman suddenly received
-an order to go quickly to Clarkson's, the
-wigmaker. At the shop, the hansom was
-discharged, and it was a very different-looking
-fare which another cab picked up at
-the same door somewhat later.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER X--The Coup of "The Planet"
-===================================
-
-About half-past five, a plump old
-country-woman, with a brown tissue veil over
-her ruddy, wrinkled face, waddled into a
-green-grocer's not far from South Audley Street.
-She bade the young man in the shop a wheezy
-"Good day," and asked if she might be
-bold enough to inquire whether Lady Henry
-Borrowdaile's housekeeper were a customer.
-Yes, the youth admitted with pride, for
-anything in their line which was not sent up
-from the Marquis of Wastwater's, in the
-country, they had the honour of serving her
-Ladyship.
-
-"Ah! I thought how it would be, your
-place being so near, and the nicest round
-about," said the old country-woman. "The
-truth is, I have to go to the house on a
-disagreeable errand. I volunteered to do it
-for a friend, and I've forgotten the number.
-I've to break some bad news to one of the
-housemaids."
-
-"Not Miss Jessie Adams, I hope!"
-protested the young man, blushing up to the
-roots of his light hair.
-
-"Yes, it is poor Jessie," said the old
-woman. "You know her?"
-
-"We've been walking out together the
-last six months. I suppose her father's
-took bad again, or--or worse?"
-
-"He's living--or was when I left; but----"
-and the old-fashioned bonnet with the veil
-shook ominously. "Well, I must go and
-do my duty. I hope she'll be able to get
-home for a week or so."
-
-A few minutes later, Joan, delighted with
-her disguise and the detective skill she was
-developing, rang the servants' bell at the
-Borrowdailes'. She had learned what she
-had hoped to learn, the name of one of the
-maids, and she had also learned something
-more--the fact that Jessie Adams had a
-father whose state of health would afford an
-excuse for absence; and the existence of a
-lover, who would probably urge immediate
-marriage if there were enough money on
-either side.
-
-The old countrywoman with the brown
-veil was voluble to the footman who opened
-the door. She explained that she had news
-from home for Jessie Adams, and was shown
-into a servant's sitting-room, where presently
-appeared a fresh-looking girl with languishing
-eyes, and a full, weak mouth.
-
-"Oh, I thought perhaps it would be Aunt
-Emmy!" exclaimed the young person in
-cap and apron.
-
-"No, I'm not Aunt Emmy, but you may
-take it I'm a friend," replied the old woman.
-"Don't be frightened. Your father ain't
-so very bad, but your folks would be glad
-to have you at home if you could manage it.
-And, look here, my gell, here's good news
-for you. You may make a tidy bit of money
-by going, if you can get off at once--this
-very night. How much must you and that
-nice young man of yours put by before you
-can marry?"
-
-"We can't marry till he sets up in business
-for himself, and it will take a hundred pounds
-at least," said the girl. "We've each got
-about ten pounds saved towards it. But
-what's ten pounds?"
-
-"Added on to ninety it makes a hundred,
-and you can earn that by lending your place
-here for one fortnight to a niece of mine,
-who wants to be a journalist and write what
-the doings inside a smart house are like.
-She'd name no names, so you'd never be
-given away. All you'd have to do would be
-to tell the housekeeper your father was took
-bad, and would she let you go if you'd bring
-your cousin Maria in your stead--a clever,
-experienced girl, with the best references from
-Lord Northmuir's house?"
-
-"My goodness me, you take my breath
-away!" gasped Jessie Adams. "How do
-I know but your niece is a thief who'd steal
-her Ladyship's jewels?"
-
-"You don't know, except that I say she
-isn't. But, anyhow, what does it matter to
-you? You don't need to come back or ever
-be in service again. Here's the ninety pounds
-in gold, my dear. You can bite every piece,
-if you wish; and you've but to do what I
-say to get them before you walk out of this
-house. You settle matters with the
-housekeeper, and I'll have my niece call on her
-within the hour."
-
-The girl with the languishing eyes and
-the weak mouth had her price, like many
-of her betters, and it happened to be exactly
-ninety pounds. Joan had brought a hundred,
-and considered that she had made a bargain.
-Jessie consented to speak to the
-housekeeper, and the countrywoman departed.
-By this time it was dusk. She took a
-four-wheeler and drove to the gates of the Park.
-In a dark and lonely spot the outer disguise
-was whisked off, and the paint wiped from
-her face. Underneath her shawl she wore
-a neat black dress, suitable for a housemaid
-in search of a situation. This, too, Joan had
-thoughtfully obtained at Clarkson's, whence
-her pale blue cloth had been despatched by
-messenger to Woburn Place. The bonnet
-was quickly shaped into a hat; the stuffing
-which had plumped out the thin, girlish
-form was wrapped in the shawl which had
-concealed it, and hidden under a bush.
-Joan's own hair was combed primly back
-from her forehead, and strained so tightly
-at the sides as to change the expression of
-her face completely. "Cousin Maria" was
-as different from Miss Joan Carthew as a
-mouse is from a bird of Paradise.
-
-Cream could not be more velvety soft
-than Joan's voice, the eye of a dove more
-mild than hers, as she conversed with Lady
-Henry Borrowdaile's housekeeper. And she
-was armed with a magnificent reference.
-There had been a Maria Jordan at Lord
-Northmuir's, as housemaid, in Joan's day
-there, but the real Maria had gone to America,
-and it was safe and simple to write in praise
-of this young person's character and
-accomplishments, signing the document Mercy
-Milton. At worst, even if Lady Henry's
-housekeeper sent the reference to Lord
-Northmuir's housekeeper, the imposition could
-not be proved. Maria might have had time
-to come back from America, and Miss Milton,
-now departed, might have consented to
-please the housemaid by giving her a written
-recommendation.
-
-But Maria Jordan's manner as an applicant
-to fill her cousin's place was so respectful and
-respectable, and the need to decide was so
-pressing, that Lady Henry's housekeeper
-resolved to accept Jordan, so to speak, on
-face value. That same night Jessie Adams
-went home (or somewhere else), and her
-cousin stepped into the vacant niche.
-
-Meanwhile, Joan had, on the plea of
-picking up her luggage, driven to one or
-two cheap shops in the Tottenham Court
-Road, and provided herself with a tin box
-and a suitable outfit for a superior
-housemaid. She was thankful to find that she
-would have a room to herself, and delighted
-to discover that Jessie Adams and Mathilde,
-Lady Henry's own maid, had been on terms
-of friendship. Their rooms adjoined; Jessie
-had been teaching Mathilde English in odd
-moments, and Mathilde had often obligingly
-carried messages to the enamoured greengrocer.
-
-Joan lost not a moment in winning her
-way into Mathilde's good graces, wasting the
-less time because she had already made
-preparations with a view to such an end.
-She had bought a large box of delicious
-sweets, which she pretended her own "young
-man" had given her, and this she placed at
-the French girl's disposal. It happened that
-Lady Henry was dining out and going to
-the theatre afterwards that night, and
-Mathilde, being free, visited Maria easily
-in her room, where she sat on the bed,
-swinging her well-shod feet and eating cream
-chocolates. Maria, in the course of
-conversation, chanced to mention that her
-"young man" was the partner of a French
-hairdresser in Knightsbridge; that the two
-were intimate friends; that the hairdresser
-was young, singularly handsome, well-to-do,
-and looking out for a Parisienne as a wife.
-This Admirable Crichton was in France at
-present, on business, Maria added, but he
-would return in the course of a fortnight,
-when Maria's "young man" should effect
-an introduction, as she was sure that
-Monsieur Jacques would fall in love at first
-sight with Mathilde.
-
-Mathilde pretended indifference, but she
-thought Maria the nicest girl she had met
-in England, far more *chic* than Jessie; and
-when she heard that her new friend longed
-to be a lady's maid, she offered to coach her
-in the art. Maria was gushingly grateful,
-for though she had (she said) already acted
-as maid to one or two ladies, they had not
-been "swells" like Lady Henry, and lessons
-from Mathilde would be of inestimable value.
-
-"I suppose," she went on coaxingly,
-"that if I showed you I could do hair nicely,
-and understood what was wanted of a lady's
-maid, you wouldn't be took ill, and give me
-a chance to try my hand on Lady Henry?
-Practice on her Ladyship would be worth
-a lot of lessons, wouldn't it? My goodness!
-I'd give all my savings for such a chance in
-a house like this! Think of the help it
-would be to me afterwards to say I'd been
-understudy, as you might call it, to a real
-expert like Mathilde, Lady Henry Borrowdaile's
-own maid, and given great satisfaction
-in the part! It might mean a good
-place for me. I ain't jokin', mademoiselle.
-I've got twenty-five sovereigns saved up,
-and if you'll have neuralgia so bad you can't
-lift your head from the pillow for three or
-four days, those twenty-five sovereigns are
-yours."
-
-"*Mais*, for me to have ze neuralgia, it do
-not make that milady take you for my
-place," said the laughing Mathilde.
-
-"No, but leave that to me. You shall
-have the money just the same."
-
-"All right," said Mathilde, giggling, scarce
-believing that her friend was in earnest.
-"I have ze neuralgia *demain*--to-morrow."
-
-Joan sprang up and went to the new tin
-box. She bent over it for a moment, with
-her back to Mathilde; then she turned,
-with a stocking in her hand--a stocking fat
-in the foot, and tied round the ankle with
-a bit of ribbon. "Count what's there,"
-she exclaimed, emptying the stocking in
-Mathilde's lap.
-
-There were gold and silver, and even a
-little copper. Altogether, the sum amounted
-to that which Maria had named, and a few
-shillings over.
-
-Mathilde was dazzled. What with this
-bird in hand, and another in the bush (the
-eligible hairdresser), she was ready to do
-almost anything for Maria. Later that night,
-in undressing Lady Henry, she complained
-of suffering such agony that she feared
-for the morrow. Luckily, should she be
-incapacitated for a short time, there was
-a girl now in the house (a young person in
-the place of the first housemaid, absent on
-account of trouble in the family) who had
-been lady's maid and knew her business.
-Lady Henry was too sleepy to care what
-might happen to-morrow--indeed, scarcely
-listened to Mathilde's murmurings; but when
-to-morrow was to-day, and a sweet-faced,
-sweet-voiced girl announced that Mathilde
-could not leave her bed, the spoiled beauty
-remembered last night's conversation. After
-some grumbling, she consented to try what
-Jordan could do; and while the second
-housemaid pouted over Maria's work, Maria
-was busy ingratiating herself with Lady
-Henry--ingratiating herself so thoroughly
-that Mathilde would have trembled jealously
-for the future could she have seen or heard.
-Joan was one of those rare creatures,
-born for success, who set their teeth in
-unbreakable resolve to do whatever they must
-do, well. Being a lady herself, with all a
-lady's fastidious tastes, she knew how a lady
-liked to be waited upon. She was not
-attracted by Lady Henry, whom men called
-an angel, and women "a cat," but she was
-as attentive as if her whole happiness
-depended on her mistress's approbation.
-Mathilde was efficient, but frivolous and
-flighty, sometimes inclined to sulkiness; and
-Lady Henry, superbly indifferent to the
-sufferings of servants, decided that she would
-not be sorry if Mathilde were ill a long time.
-
-Two or three days went by; Joan kept
-the Parisienne supplied with *bonbons* and
-French novels, and carried up all her meals,
-arranged almost as daintily as if they had
-been for her Ladyship. Mathilde was happy,
-and Joan was--waiting. But her patience
-was not to be tried for long.
-
-On the third day, she was told that her
-mistress was dining at home, alone with
-Lord Henry. This was such an unusual
-event that Joan was sure it meant something,
-especially when Lady Henry demanded
-one of her prettiest frocks. A footman,
-inclined to be Maria's slave, was smiled upon,
-intercepted during dinner, and questioned.
-"They're behaving like turtle-doves," said he.
-
-Joan had expected this. "That little cat
-has guessed or discovered that everything
-is settled, and she means to get the truth out
-of him this evening, so that somehow she
-can give the news to *The Daily Beacon*
-to-night, in time to go to press for to-morrow,"
-the girl reflected.
-
-She was excited, but the great moment
-had come, and she kept herself rigidly under
-control, for much depended upon calmness
-and fertility in resource. "They will have
-their coffee in Lady Henry's boudoir," Joan
-reflected, "and that is when she will get
-to work."
-
-She thought thus on her way upstairs,
-carrying a dress of Lady Henry's, from
-which she had been brushing the marks of a
-muddy carriage-wheel. She laid it on a
-chair, and saw on another a milliner's box.
-Her mistress had not mentioned that she
-was expecting anything, and Joan's curiosity
-was aroused. She untied the fastenings,
-lifted a layer of tissue paper, and saw a neat,
-dark green tailor-dress, with a toque made
-of the same material and a little velvet.
-There was also a long, plain coat of the green
-cloth, with gold buttons, and on the breast
-pocket was embroidered an odd design in
-gold thread.
-
-Joan suddenly became thoughtful. This
-dress was as unlike as possible to the butterfly
-style which Lady Henry affected, and all
-who knew her knew that she detested dark
-colours. Yet this costume was distinctly
-sombre and severe; and the name of the
-milliner was unfamiliar to Joan.
-
-"It's like a disguise," the girl said to
-herself, "and I'll bet anything that's what it's
-for. She went to a strange milliner; she
-made a point of the things being ready
-to-night; she chose a costume which would
-absolutely change her appearance, if worn
-with a thick veil. And then that bit of
-embroidery on the pocket! Why, it's a
-miniature copy of the design they print under
-the title of *The Beacon*. It is a beacon,
-flaming! She means to slip out of the house when
-she's got the secret safe, and somebody at the
-office of the paper will have been ordered to
-take a veiled woman with such a dress as this
-up to Portheous' private office, without her
-speaking a word. Well--a woman will go
-there, but I hope it won't be Lady Henry."
-
-Without stopping for an instant's further
-reflection, Joan caught up the box and flew
-with it to her own room, where she pushed
-it under the bed. She then watched her
-chance, and when no one was in sight, darted
-into the boudoir, where she squeezed herself
-behind a screen close to the door. She
-might have found a more convenient
-hiding-place, but this, though uncomfortable, gave
-her an advantage. If the two persons she
-expected to enter the room elected to sit
-near the fireplace, as they probably would,
-Joan might be able to steal noiselessly away
-without being seen or heard.
-
-She had not had much time to spare, for
-ten minutes after she had plastered herself
-against the wall, Lord and Lady Henry came
-in. They went to the sofa in front of the
-fire and chatted of commonplaces until after
-the coffee and *Orange Marnier* had been
-brought. Then Lady Henry took out her
-jewelled cigarette-case, gave a cigarette to
-her husband and took one herself. To light
-hers from his, she perched on Lord Henry's
-knee, remaining in that position to play with
-his hair, her white fingers flashing with
-rings. She cooed to her husband prettily,
-saying how nice it was to be with him alone,
-and how it grieved her to see him weary and
-worried.
-
-"Is the old Russian Bear going to take
-hands and dance prettily with little Japan
-and big China, darling?" she purred. "You
-know, precious, talking to me is as safe as
-talking to yourself."
-
-"I know, my pet. Thank goodness, the
-strain is over. England and France together
-have brought such pressure to bear, that
-Russia was in a funk. The ultimatum we
-issued----"
-
-"Oh, then, the ultimatum *was* sent?"
-
-"Yes. If Russia had held firm, nothing
-could have prevented war. But for obvious
-diplomatic reasons, the papers must not be
-able to state officially that any negotiations
-of the sort have ever taken place. There
-has been a rumour, but that will die out."
-
-"Ah, well, I'm glad there won't be war;
-but as *you're* not a soldier, and can't be
-killed, it wouldn't have broken my heart.
-Kiss me and let's talk of something amusing.
-Your poor pet gets a headache if she has to
-think of affairs of State too long."
-
-Joan did not wait for the end of the last
-sentence. She began with the utmost caution
-to move the farther end of the screen
-forward, until she could reach the door-handle.
-With infinite patience she turned the knob
-at the rate of an inch a minute, until it was
-possible to open the door. Then she pulled
-it slowly, very slowly, towards her. At
-last she could slip into the corridor, where
-she had an instant of sickening fear lest she
-should be detected by a passing servant.
-Luck was with her, however; but instead
-of seizing the chance to run upstairs unseen,
-she stopped, shut the door as softly as it
-had been opened, and then knocked. Lady
-Henry's voice, with a ring of relief, called
-"Come in!" Joan showed herself on the
-threshold, and announced that a person
-from Frasquet's, of George Street, had called
-to say that by mistake a costume ordered by
-Lady Henry had been sent to the wrong
-address, but that search would at once be
-made, and the box brought to South Audley
-Street as soon as found.
-
-Lady Henry sprang up with an exclamation
-of anger, and called down the vengeance
-of the gods upon the house of Frasquet.
-
-"Might I suggest, your Ladyship, that I
-go with the messenger, and make sure of
-bringing back the box, if the dress is a valuable
-one?" asked Joan.
-
-Lady Henry caught at this idea. Joan
-was bidden to run away and not to come
-back till she had the box. "I will give you
-a sovereign if you bring it home before
-midnight," she added.
-
-Joan walked calmly out with the box from
-Frasquet's, took a cab, and drove to Woburn
-Place, where, in her own room, she dressed
-herself as Lady Henry had intended to be
-dressed. The frock and coat fitted
-sufficiently well, for Jordan and her mistress
-were somewhat of the same figure. An
-embroidered black veil, with one of chiffon
-underneath, completely hid her features;
-and, heavily perfumed with Lady Henry's
-favourite scent, at precisely a quarter to
-eleven she presented herself at the office of
-*The Daily Beacon*. A gesture of a gloved
-hand towards the flaming gold on the coat
-was as if a password had been spoken. She
-was conducted to a private office on the
-first floor, and there received by a bearded,
-red-faced man, who sprang up on her entrance.
-
-"Well--well?" he demanded.
-
-The veiled and scented lady put her finger
-to her lips.
-
-"'Sh!" she breathed. Then, disguising
-her voice by whispering, she went on. "Russia
-China, and Japan have signed the alliance,
-in spite of England and France, whom they
-have defied very insolently, and it's only a
-question of a short time before the storm
-breaks. There! That's all, in a nutshell.
-I must run away at once."
-
-.. _`"'Sh!' she breathed."`:
-
-.. figure:: images/img-214.jpg
- :align: center
- :alt: "'Sh!' she breathed."
-
- "'Sh!' she breathed."
-
-
-"A thousand thanks! You're a brick!" Mr. Portheous
-pressed the gloved hand and
-left a cheque in it. "We shall go to press
-with this immediately."
-
-Joan glanced at the cheque, saw it was
-for seven hundred pounds, and despised
-Lady Henry for cheapening the market.
-Her waiting cab drove her a few streets
-farther on, to the office of *The Planet*. A
-card with the name of Miss Carthew, and
-"Important private business" scrawled upon
-it, was the "Open, sesame!" to Sir Edmund
-Foster's door.
-
-"Have you your cheque-book handy?"
-she nonchalantly asked.
-
-"What for?"
-
-"*Quid pro quo.*" Joan rushed into her
-whole story, which she told from beginning
-to end, proving its truth by showing
-Mr. Portheous' cheque made out to Mrs. Anne
-Randall. "Lady Henry, no doubt, has an
-account somewhere under that name. She's
-too sharp to use her own," added the girl.
-"Do you believe me now?"
-
-"Yes. You're wonderful. I shall risk
-printing the news exactly as you have given
-it to me."
-
-"You won't regret your trust. But I don't
-want your cheque to-night. I'll take it
-to-morrow, when I can say: 'I told you so.'"
-
-"Would you still like to come on our staff--at
-a salary of ten pounds a week?"
-
-"No, thank you, Sir Edmund. I've brought
-off my big *coup*, and anything more in the
-newspaper line would be, I fear, an anticlimax.
-Besides, I want to play with my fifteen
-hundred pounds."
-
-"What shall you do now?"
-
-"Go back to the house which has the
-honour of being my home, change my clothes,
-hurry breathlessly to South Audley Street,
-and inform Lady Henry that her costume
-can't be found. She will then, in desperation,
-decide to send a note to *The Daily Beacon*,
-which, my prophetic soul whispers, she will
-order me to take."
-
-"Shall you go?"
-
-"Out of the house, yes--never, never to
-return, for my work there is done. But not
-to the office of *The Beacon*. Lady Henry's
-box shall be sent to her by parcel post
-to-morrow morning, and Mrs. Randall's cheque
-will be in the coat pocket. That will surprise
-her a little, but it won't matter to me; for,
-after having called here for my cheque, I
-think I'll take the two o'clock train for the
-Continent. I shall have plenty of money
-to enjoy myself, and I feel I need a change
-of air."
-
-"You are wonderful!" repeated Sir Edmund Foster.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XI--Kismet and a V.C.
-=============================
-
-"Now, where on earth have I seen that
-girl before?" Joan Carthew asked herself.
-
-It was at Biarritz, where she was enjoying,
-as she put it to herself, a well-earned holiday;
-and she was known at her hotel, and among
-the few acquaintances she had made, as
-the Comtesse de Merival, a young widow with
-plenty of money. She was a Comtesse
-because it is easy to say that one has married
-a sprig of foreign nobility, without being
-found out; she was a widow because it is
-possible for a widow to be alone, unchaperoned,
-and to amuse herself without ceasing to be
-*comme il faut*.
-
-Joan had amused herself a great deal
-during the six weeks since she had left England,
-and the cream of the amusement had consisted
-in inventing a romantic story about herself
-and getting it believed. It was as good as
-acting in a successful play which one has
-written for oneself.
-
-At the present moment she was walking
-on the *plage*, pleasantly conscious that she
-was one of the prettiest and best-dressed
-women among many who were pretty and
-well-dressed. Then a blonde girl passed
-her, a blonde girl who was new to Biarritz,
-but who, somehow, did not seem new to
-Joan's retina. Her photograph was
-somewhere in the book of memory, and, oddly
-enough, it seemed to have a background of
-sea and blue sky, as it had to-day.
-
-The girl was pretty, as a beautifully dressed,
-golden-haired doll in a shop window is pretty.
-She was also exceedingly "good form," and
-she was vouched for as a young person of
-importance by a remarkably distinguished-looking
-old man who strolled beside her.
-
-They turned, and in passing the "Comtesse"
-for the second time, the girl looked
-full in Joan's face, with a lingering gaze
-such as a spoiled beauty often directs upon
-a possible rival.
-
-Then, all in an instant, Joan knew.
-
-"Why," she reminded herself, "it's the
-girl I saw at Brighton--the girl I envied.
-I know it is she. That's eight years ago,
-but I can't be mistaken."
-
-Somehow this seemed an important
-discovery. If Joan, a miserable, overworked
-slavey of twelve, nursing her tyrant's baby,
-had not been bitten with consuming jealousy
-of a child no older but a thousand times
-more fortunate than herself, she might have
-gone on indefinitely as a slavey, and might
-never have had a career.
-
-The little girl at Brighton had looked
-scornfully from under her softly drooping
-Leghorn hat at the shabby child-nurse, and
-a rage of resentment had boiled in Joan's
-passionate young heart. Now, the tall girl
-at Biarritz looked with half-reluctant
-admiration from under an equally becoming
-hat at the Comtesse de Merival, who was
-more beautiful and apparently quite as
-fortunate as she. Nevertheless the old scar
-suddenly throbbed again, so that Joan
-remembered there had once been a wound;
-and she knew that she had no gratitude
-for the girl to whom, indirectly, she owed
-her rise in the world.
-
-Joan was usually generous to women, even
-when she had no cause to love them, for,
-with all her faults, there was nothing of the
-"cat" in her nature; yet, to her surprise,
-she felt that she would like to hurt this girl
-in some way. "What a brute I must be!"
-she said to herself. "I didn't know I was
-so bad. Really I mustn't let this sort of thing
-grow on me, otherwise I shall degenerate
-from a highwayman (rather a gallant one, I
-think) into a cad, and I should lose interest
-in foraging for myself if I were a cad."
-
-As she thought this, the girl and her
-companion were joined by a man. Joan glanced,
-then gazed, and decided that he was the most
-interesting man to look at whom she had ever
-seen in her life. Not that he was the
-handsomest, as mere beauty of feature goes,
-but he was of exactly the type which Joan
-and most women admire at heart above all
-others.
-
-One did not need to be told, to know that
-he was a soldier. As he stood talking to
-his friends, with his hat off, and the sun
-chiselling the ripples of his close-cropped
-hair in bronze, his head towered above those
-of the other men who came and went. His
-face was bronze, too, of a lighter shade,
-blending into ivory half way up the forehead,
-and his features were strong and clear-cut
-as a bronze man's should always be. He
-wore no moustache or beard, and his mouth
-and chin were self-reliant, firm, and generous,
-but Joan liked his eyes best of all. As she
-passed slowly, they met hers for a second,
-and their clear depths were brown and bright
-as a Devonshire brook when the noonday
-sun shines into it.
-
-It was only for a second that the man's
-soul looked at her from its windows, but it
-was long enough to make her sharply realise
-two facts. One, that she was far, far beneath
-him; the other, that he was the only man
-in the world for her.
-
-"To think that *that* girl should know
-him, and I not!" she said to herself
-rebelliously. "He is miles too good for me, but
-he's more miles too good for her, because
-she hasn't any soul, and I have, even though
-it's a bad one. Again, after all these years,
-that girl passes through my life, taking with
-her as she goes what I would give all I own,
-all I might ever gain, to have. It's
-Kismet--nothing less."
-
-"*Ah, Comtesse, bon jour*!" murmured a
-voice that Joan knew, and then it went on
-in very good English, with only a slight
-foreign accent: "You are charming to-day,
-but you do not see your friends. They
-must remind you of their existence before
-they can win a bow."
-
-"I have just seen some one who was like
-a ghost out of the past," returned Joan,
-with a careless smile for the handsome, dark
-young man who had stopped to greet her.
-
-"What!" his face lighted up. "You
-know that young lady you were looking at?
-That is indeed interesting, and I will tell
-you why, presently, if you will let me. If you
-would but introduce me--at all events, to the
-father. The rest I can do for myself."
-
-"I don't know her," said Joan, "although
-an important issue of my life was associated
-with the girl. I can't even give you her name."
-
-"I can do as much as that for you,"
-said the Marchese Villa Fora. "She is a
-Miss Violet Ffrench, and the old man is her
-father, General Ffrench. Not only is she
-one of the greatest beauties, but one of the
-greatest heiresses in England."
-
-"Ah!" said Joan, "no wonder you are interested."
-
-"No wonder. But what good does that
-do to me, since I have not the honour of
-her acquaintance, and since she is to marry
-that great, bronze statue of a fellow?"
-
-A pang shot through Joan's heart, and
-she was ashamed because it was a
-jealous pang. "She is to marry him! How
-do you know that, since you are not acquainted
-with her?"
-
-"It is an open secret. I saw the father
-and daughter in Paris three weeks ago, and
-fell in love at first sight--ah! you may
-laugh. You Englishwomen cannot understand
-us Latins. It is true that I proposed
-to you, but you would not take me, and my
-heart was soon after caught in the rebound.
-It is very simple."
-
-"You thought that you fell in love with
-me at first sight, too; at least, you said
-so, and without any introduction except
-picking up my purse when I dropped it in the
-Champs Élysées."
-
-"I got an introduction afterwards."
-
-"Yes, a lady who was staying at my hotel."
-
-"At all events, she vouched for me. She
-has known my family for years, in Madrid."
-
-"She warned me against you, Marchese.
-She said that you were a fortune-hunter, and
-that you fancied I was rich. When you had
-proposed, and I had told you frankly that my
-fortune was but silver-gilt, warranted to
-keep its colour for a few years only, you were
-very much obliged to me for refusing you,
-as it saved you the trouble of jilting me
-afterwards. You are still more obliged to
-me now that you have met a genuine heiress
-who has all other desirable qualifications as
-well."
-
-"You are cruel," exclaimed Villa Fora,
-to whose style of good looks reproaches were
-becoming. "Cannot a man love twice?
-What does it matter to the heart whether
-there has been an interval of weeks or of
-years? I am madly in love with Miss
-Ffrench, and as you promised to be my
-friend if I would 'talk no more nonsense,' I
-have no hesitation in confessing it to you.
-I followed her here from Paris, and arrived only
-this afternoon. She is at the Hotel
-Victoria; therefore, so am I."
-
-"So am I, but not 'therefore,'" cut in
-Joan. "And the--the man you say she is to marry?"
-
-"Colonel Sir Justin Wentworth? He is
-at the Grand. But he has come for her. I
-know the whole story--I have it from a
-gossiping old lady who is *au courant* with
-every one's affairs if they are worth
-bothering with; and she does not make mistakes.
-She has told me that General Ffrench was the
-guardian of this Sir Justin, that the
-father--a baronet--was his dearest friend. The
-match has been an understood thing ever
-since Wentworth was eighteen and the girl
-five; for there is quite thirteen years'
-difference in their ages."
-
-"Then he is about thirty-four or five,"
-said Joan thoughtfully.
-
-"Yes, but in that I am not interested.
-The awful part for me is that the girl
-is now of age, and the obstacle of her
-youth no longer prevents the marriage.
-Any day the worst may happen. If
-I could only meet her, I might have a chance
-to undermine the cold, bronze statue, even
-though he has a great reputation as a
-soldier, and is a V.C. But how to manage
-an introduction? The father has the air of
-a mediaeval dragon."
-
-Joan's heart said: "The man is not a
-cold statue," but aloud she remarked: "I
-see now why you hoped that I knew Miss
-Ffrench. You wanted *me* to manage it.
-Well, perhaps I can, even as it is. I have
-undertaken more difficult things and succeeded."
-
-"Oh, if you would! But why should
-I hope it, since you have nothing to gain?"
-
-Joan dropped her eyes and did not answer.
-
-"Yet you will try?" pleaded Villa Fora.
-
-"Yet I will try, on one condition. You
-must be a connection of the late Comte de Merival."
-
-"Your husband!"
-
-Joan smiled as she nodded.
-
-"I am Spanish; he was, I understand,
-French. But then that presents no difficulty.
-There are such things as international marriages."
-
-"Yes. Your mother's sister married an
-uncle of my husband's, didn't she?"
-
-"Quite so. It is settled," agreed the
-Marchese gravely.
-
-"Well, then, that is the sharp end of the
-wedge. I will do my best and cleverest to
-insert it," said Joan. "As you have just
-arrived, it will be the easier. We are cousins.
-It can appear to all those whom it does not
-concern (meaning the gossips of the hotel)
-that you have run on to see your cousin. For
-the rest, you must trust me for a day or two,
-or perhaps more."
-
-Joan had tea--with her cousin--at Miremont's;
-and they saw the Ffrenches and Sir
-Justin Wentworth, also having tea. Violet
-Ffrench looked at Joan with the same
-side-glance of half-grudging admiration as before,
-and Joan looked, now and then, at Violet
-Ffrench with a charming, frank gaze, which
-seemed to say: "You are so sweetly pretty
-that I can't keep my eyes off you, and I
-like you for being pretty." In reality it
-said something quite different, but it was
-effects, not realities, which mattered at the
-moment.
-
-Thus the campaign had begun, though
-the enemy was blissfully ignorant of the
-activity upon the other side.
-
-Joan went back to the hotel rather earlier
-than she had intended, and going straight
-to the large, empty dining-room, rang for
-the head waiter. When he appeared, she
-asked if it were yet arranged where a new
-arrival, General Ffrench, was to sit with his
-daughter. The waiter pointed out a small
-table or two, near the centre of the room;
-but before his hand withdrew from the
-gesture, it was turned palm upward in answer
-to a slight, silent hint from Joan. Finally,
-it retired with a louis in its clasp. "I want
-you to put my table close to theirs," said
-she. "It shall be done, madame," replied
-the man; and it was done. Therefore Joan
-and Violet could scarcely help exchanging more
-glances from between their red-shaded candles
-that night at dinner, which Joan ate alone,
-unaccompanied by the wistful Villa Fora.
-
-The Ffrenches appeared to know nobody
-in the hotel, and of this she was glad. There
-was the more chance for her.
-
-After dinner there was conjuring, and
-Joan contrived to sit next to Miss Ffrench.
-Villa Fora was on the opposite side of the big
-drawing-room, where he had reluctantly gone
-in obedience to his "cousin's" instructions.
-The conjuring made conversation, and Joan
-was not surprised to find the heiress open to
-flattery. When the performance was over, she
-kept her seat; and by this time, having
-introduced herself to Miss Ffrench, the
-introduction was passed on to the father.
-He, good man, was too well-born to be actually
-a snob, but he had no objection to titles,
-even foreign ones, and the Comtesse de
-Merival was so pretty, so modest, altogether
-such good form, that he had no objection
-to her as, at least, an hotel acquaintance
-for his daughter.
-
-It seemed that General Ffrench had been
-ordered to Biarritz for his health, and that
-he hoped to do some golfing; but Miss
-Ffrench hated golf, and as she had no friends
-in the place, she expected to be very dull.
-
-At this, Joan reminded her gaily of the
-friend with whom she and her father had
-been walking in the afternoon.
-
-"Oh, but he is such an old friend, he
-doesn't count," exclaimed Violet, blushing
-a little.
-
-"She isn't a bit in love with him," thought
-Joan. "What a shame! But--*tant mieux*.
-She is vain and romantic; often the two
-qualities go together in a woman. The ground
-is all prepared for me."
-
-By and by, Sir Justin Wentworth strolled
-in from his hotel. Though she was dying
-to stay and meet him, and perhaps have a
-few words, Joan rose and walked away.
-This course was approved by General Ffrench.
-He would have known what to think if the
-beautiful Comtesse had made herself fascinating,
-at such short notice, to his son-in-law elect.
-
-Joan talked with her "cousin," who had
-been in the smoking-room, and Violet Ffrench
-had time to be intensely curious as to the
-connection between her charming new
-acquaintance, the Comtesse de Merival, and
-the handsome, dark young man who had
-been in her hotel at Paris. He had looked
-at her then; he looked at her now. What
-was he to the Comtesse? what was the
-Comtesse to him?
-
-Next morning, both General Ffrench and
-Sir Justin Wentworth walked off to the
-golf-links, leaving Violet to write letters in
-the glass room that looked out on the sea.
-Presently Joan came in, with a writing-case
-in her hand, and Violet stopped in the midst
-of the first sentence of her first letter. Joan
-did not even begin to write, nor had she ever
-cherished the faintest intention of doing so.
-
-Violet rather hoped that she would mention
-the dark young man, but she did not; and
-then, of course, Violet hoped it a great deal
-more. The two girls drifted from one subject
-to another, and finally, by way of a favourite
-author and a popular novel of the moment,
-they touched the key of romance.
-
-"I used to think that romance was dead
-in this century, but lately I have been
-finding out that it isn't," said Joan. "Oh,
-not personally. Romance is over for me.
-I loved my husband, you see, and he died
-the day of our wedding; I married him on
-his death-bed. That is not romance; it is
-tragedy. But I am speaking of what I
-should not speak of, to you, so let us talk of
-something else."
-
-"Why?" asked Violet.
-
-"Oh, because--because I have an idea
-that you are engaged."
-
-"How can that matter?"
-
-"It does matter. I oughtn't to explain,
-so you mustn't urge me."
-
-"You rouse my curiosity," said Violet;
-but this was not news to Joan.
-
-"Engaged girls shouldn't have curiosity
-about anything outside their own romances,"
-replied the Comtesse de Merival mysteriously.
-
-"I've never had a real romance," sighed
-Violet. "I've always been more or less
-engaged to Sir Justin Wentworth ever since
-I can remember. He is a splendid fellow,
-as you can see."
-
-"I hardly noticed," said Joan; then
-added, in a whisper, but not too low a whisper
-to be heard: "I was so busy pitying someone else."
-
-Violet's colour rose, and she was really a very
-pretty girl, though vanity made her eyes cold.
-
-"Sir Justin's father and mine were old
-chums," went on Violet. "Our place and
-his lie close together in Devonshire. We
-have even some of the same money-interests--mines
-in Australia. He has heaps of
-money, too, so there's no question of his
-needing to think of mine."
-
-"As if any man could think of your money
-when he had you to think of!" exclaimed
-Joan. "No doubt you will be very happy.
-Such a long friendship ought to be a good
-foundation for the rest, and yet--and yet--it's
-a pity that you should have to marry
-and become a placid British matron without
-first knowing some of the wild joys of *real* love,
-real romance."
-
-"I thought you doubted there being any
-left in the world?"
-
-"No; I said I had found at least one
-case which had built up my faith again;
-a case of passionate love, born at first sight,
-and strong enough to carry the man across
-the world, if necessary, to follow the woman
-he loves."
-
-"Such love isn't likely to come my way."
-
-"It has come your way. It is here--close
-to you. Oh, I have done wrong! I
-should not have spoken. But I am so sorry
-for him--my poor, handsome cousin."
-
-"Your cousin!" This was a revelation,
-and Violet's eyes were not cold now, but
-warm with interest.
-
-"Yes, the Marchese Villa Fora, the
-best-looking and one of the best-born young men
-in Spain. But indeed we must not talk
-of him. What a lovely day it is! I must
-have my motor-car out this afternoon. How
-I should love to take you with me!"
-
-Violet would ask no more questions;
-but all that had been dark was now clear, and
-she could think of nothing and no one except
-the Comtesse's cousin, the Marchese Villa Fora.
-
-Joan had been in the hotel at Biarritz for
-ten days, and by the trick of "being nice"
-(she knew how to be very nice) to the
-unattached old ladies and middle-aged dowagers,
-she had been accepted on her own valuation.
-She did not flirt, she had a title, she appeared
-to be rich, she owned a motor-car, therefore
-none of her statements regarding herself
-was doubted. General Ffrench made an
-inquiry or two concerning her, was satisfied
-with the replies, and therefore consented
-to let his daughter join an automobile party
-arranged by the Comtesse for the afternoon.
-
-Somehow, in the motor-car, Violet sat
-next to the Marchese Villa Fora, who gazed at
-her sadly with magnificent eyes and said
-very little. It was extremely interesting,
-she discovered, to sit shoulder to shoulder with
-a man who was dying of hopeless love for you,
-and had followed you across France, though
-he had never spoken a word to you until
-to-day. It was he who helped her out when
-they came back to the hotel, and the thrill
-in her fingers after his had pressed them almost
-convulsively for an instant remained for a long time.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XII--A New Love and an Old Enemy
-========================================
-
-Now, the thin end of the entering wedge,
-of which Joan had hinted, was well in,
-and after this day events moved swiftly. The
-Comtesse de Merival and Miss Ffrench were
-close friends. Violet opened her heart to
-Joan and told her everything that was in it--not
-a long list. Joan sympathised and
-advised. She did so want dear Violet to be
-happy, she said, for happiness was the best
-thing in the world; and love was happiness.
-She wanted her to have that.
-
-The two girls were together constantly,
-and this meant that Joan soon began to see
-a good deal of Sir Justin Wentworth. Quickly
-she diagnosed that he cared nothing for
-Violet Ffrench, except in a kindly, protective,
-affectionate way, but that he had a deep
-regard for her father. He would never try
-to free himself of the tacit understanding
-into which he had drifted as a boy; if any
-change were to come, the initiative must
-be taken, and firmly taken, by Violet.
-
-Meanwhile, two things were happening.
-If Violet was not precisely falling in love
-with Villa Fora, she was in love with
-the idea of him which was growing up in her
-mind; and Justin Wentworth had discovered
-that he craved for something more in life
-than Violet Ffrench could ever give him.
-
-He had gone on contentedly enough for
-the several years during which he had
-definitely thought of the marriage. There had
-been the Boer war, and then the interest
-of coming home to England and his beautiful
-old place in Devonshire, which he loved.
-But now, quite suddenly, he had awakened to
-the fact that contentment is no better than
-desperate resignation; and though he was
-hardly aware of it yet, the awakening had
-come to him when looking into Joan's eyes.
-
-He would not confess to himself that he
-loved her, but he thought that she was the
-most vivid creature he had ever met, and
-he could not help realising how curiously
-congenial they were in most of their thoughts.
-Often he seemed to feel what she was feeling,
-without a word being spoken on either
-side, and unconsciously he was jealous of
-the handsome Spanish cousin with whom
-(General Ffrench innocently suggested) the
-Comtesse would probably make a match.
-
-Joan, on her part, cared too much by this
-time to be able to see clearly, where her own
-affairs were concerned. She had begun the
-little comedy she was playing not for the
-sake of Villa Fora, but for her own, with
-the deliberate intention of separating Violet
-Ffrench from Justin Wentworth, even though
-she might never come any nearer to him
-herself. All the machinery which she had set
-going was running smoothly. Violet was
-fascinated by Villa Fora, was meeting him
-secretly and receiving notes from him; he
-was determined to bring matters to a climax
-soon, and was sure of his success. General
-Ffrench played golf all day, bridge half the
-night, and suspected nothing; nor, apparently,
-did any one else. Still, Joan was more
-miserable than she had ever been in her life--far
-more miserable than when Lady Thorndyke
-had died without making a new will and
-left her penniless.
-
-The girl saw herself at last as she was,
-unscrupulous, an adventuress, living on her
-wits and the lack of wits in others. She
-hated herself, and worshipped more and
-more each day the honourable soldier from
-whom her own unworthiness (if there were
-no other barrier) must, she felt, put her
-irrevocably apart.
-
-Even as Joan talked to Violet of Wentworth
-and Villa Fora, outwardly agreeing with the
-girl that the one was cold, that it was the
-other who knew how to love, her whole soul
-was in rebellion against itself. "He does
-not think of me at all," she would repeat over
-and over again, despite the secret voice of
-instinct which whispered a contradiction.
-"He doesn't think of me; and even if he did,
-he would only have to know half the truth
-to despise me as the vilest of women."
-
-Then, one day, there was a great scandal
-at the hotel. The Marchese Villa Fora had
-run away with Miss Violet Ffrench, in the
-Comtesse de Merival's motor-car, which lately
-he had been learning to drive. Even Joan
-was taken by surprise, for she had not known
-that the thing was going to happen so soon.
-She was actually able to tell the truth--or
-something approaching the truth--when she
-assured the father and the deserted *fiancé* that
-she was innocent of complicity. So candid
-were her beautiful, wet eyes, so tremulous her
-sweet voice, and so pale the delicate oval
-of her cheeks, that both men believed her,
-and one of them was so happy in this sudden
-relief from the weight of a great burden
-that he could have sung aloud.
-
-General Ffrench was far from happy;
-but he determined that, rather than give
-fuel to the scandal, he would make the best of
-things as they were. To this course he was
-partly persuaded by the counsels of Justin
-Wentworth. Villa Fora was undoubtedly
-what he pretended to be, a Spanish marquis
-of very ancient and honourable lineage,
-though it would take many golden bricks
-to rebuild the family castle in Spain. The
-girl had gone with him, and gone too far
-before the truth came out to be brought
-back with good grace, therefore it were well
-to let her become the Marchesa Villa Fora
-quietly, without useless ragings.
-
-The thing Joan had set herself to
-accomplish was done; she had separated Justin
-Wentworth and Violet Ffrench for ever, and
-now the end had come. She was hurt and
-sore, and could hardly bear to see her own
-face in the glass, for she imagined that it
-had grown hard and cruel--that Justin
-Wentworth must find it so.
-
-General Ffrench openly announced his
-daughter's marriage to the Marchese Villa
-Fora, and told all inquirers that he was going
-to join her in Madrid; but Justin Wentworth
-would not, of course, accompany his old friend
-on such a mission. He would set his face
-towards England, and with this intention
-he said "Good-bye" to the Comtesse de Merival.
-
-"This has hurt and shocked you,
-too," he said. "There is one thing I must
-say to you, and it is this: it is only for her
-father that I care. I want her to be happy
-in her own way. We did not suit each other."
-
-"I used sometimes to think not," Joan
-answered in a voice genuinely broken. "I
-used to be afraid that--if you should ever
-marry--you would not have been happy.
-Perhaps she--wasn't the right one for you."
-
-Her eyes were downcast, but the compelling
-power of love in the man's caught them
-up to his and held them.
-
-"I have known that she wasn't the right
-one for a long time," he said. "I have
-known the right one, and it is you. I love
-you with all my heart. I want you. You
-are the one woman on earth for me. I
-hadn't meant to say this now, but--I can't
-let you go out of my life. I must do all I
-can to keep you always."
-
-"Don't!" gasped Joan. "Don't! it will
-kill me. Oh, if you only knew, how you
-would hate me!"
-
-"Nothing could make me hate you."
-
-"Yes. Wait!" And then Joan poured
-out the whole story--not only of this last
-fraud, but of all the frauds; the story of her "career."
-
-He listened to the end, without interrupting
-her once. Then, at last, when the
-strange tale was finished, and the pale girl
-was silent from sheer exhaustion of the
-hopeless spirit tasting its punishment in
-purgatory, he held out his arms.
-
-"Poor, little, lonely girl!" he said. "How
-sorry I am for you! How I want to comfort
-and take care of you all the rest of your life,
-so that it may be clear and white, as your
-true self would have it be! And--how glad
-I am that you're not a widowed Comtesse!"
-
-----
-
-She was in his arms still when a knock at
-the door roused them both from the first
-dream of real happiness the girl had ever known.
-
-A servant brought a card. She took it
-from the tray and read it out mechanically:
-"Mr. George Gallon."
-
-"Tell the gentleman----" she had begun;
-but before she could go further with her
-instructions George Gallon himself had entered the room.
-
-"Well, Miss Carthew," he said, "I heard
-from an unexpected source that you were
-here, swaggering about as the widow of a
-French Comte. I needed a little holiday,
-and so I ran out to see whether you were a
-greater success as a Comtesse than you were
-as a typewriter in my office. Oh! I beg your
-pardon. You're not alone. I'm afraid I
-may have surprised your friend with some
-disagreeable news."
-
-"Not at all," said Justin Wentworth
-calmly. "Miss Carthew has not only told
-me of that episode in her life, but how it
-became necessary for her to take up the
-position of a typewriter. Your treatment of
-her seemed almost incredible--until I saw
-you. No wonder it was necessary for Miss
-Carthew to adopt an *alias*, if this is the sort
-of persecution she is subject to under her
-own name. But in future it will be different.
-As Lady Wentworth she will be safe even from
-cads like you; and though she is not yet
-my wife, I'm thankful to say I have even
-now the right to protect her. When do you
-intend to leave Biarritz, Mr. Gallon?"
-
-.. _`"'When do you intend to leave Biarritz?'"`:
-
-.. figure:: images/img-254.jpg
- :align: center
- :alt: "'When do you intend to leave Biarritz?'"
-
- "'When do you intend to leave Biarritz?'"
-
-
-George opened his lips furiously, but snapped
-them shut again. Then, having paused to
-reflect, he said: "I am here only for an hour.
-I'm going on to Spain."
-
-"Pray watch over your tongue in that
-hour," returned Wentworth.
-
-Then George Gallon was gone.
-
-"I'll worship you all my life on my knees,"
-said Joan. "I'm not worthy to touch your
-hand. But I will be. I will be a new self."
-
-"Only the best of the old one, that is
-all I want," answered her lover. "The
-past is like a garment which you wore for
-protection against the storm. But there will
-be no more storms after this."
-
-"Because you have forgiven me, because
-you believe in me," cried Joan, "you will
-make of me the woman you would have me!"
-
-"The woman you really are, or I would
-not have loved you," he said.
-
-And so it was that Joan Carthew's career
-ended and her life began.
-
-.. vspace:: 4
-
-.. class:: center small
-
-Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London.
-
-.. vspace:: 6
-
-.. pgfooter::
diff --git a/39730-rst/images/img-040.jpg b/39730-rst/images/img-040.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index dbdcb33..0000000 --- a/39730-rst/images/img-040.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/39730-rst/images/img-042.jpg b/39730-rst/images/img-042.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 134eb57..0000000 --- a/39730-rst/images/img-042.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/39730-rst/images/img-064.jpg b/39730-rst/images/img-064.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index ecc46e5..0000000 --- a/39730-rst/images/img-064.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/39730-rst/images/img-116.jpg b/39730-rst/images/img-116.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 20d1d18..0000000 --- a/39730-rst/images/img-116.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/39730-rst/images/img-214.jpg b/39730-rst/images/img-214.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 5dd9fe7..0000000 --- a/39730-rst/images/img-214.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/39730-rst/images/img-254.jpg b/39730-rst/images/img-254.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 97c3b1f..0000000 --- a/39730-rst/images/img-254.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/39730-rst/images/img-cover.jpg b/39730-rst/images/img-cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index eaa7a61..0000000 --- a/39730-rst/images/img-cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/39730.txt b/39730.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 41e401f..0000000 --- a/39730.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4329 +0,0 @@ - THE GIRL WHO HAD NOTHING - - - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost -no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Title: The Girl Who Had Nothing - -Author: Mrs. C. N. Williamson - -Release Date: May 18, 2012 [EBook #39730] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL WHO HAD NOTHING *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - -[Illustration: Cover art] - - - - - THE GIRL WHO HAD NOTHING - - - By - - MRS. C. N. WILLIAMSON - - - AUTHOR OF "THE LIGHTNING CONDUCTOR," ETC. - - - - - _ILLUSTRATIONS BY JOHN CAMERON_ - - - - - LONDON - - WARD LOCK & CO LIMITED - - 1905 - - - - - ---- - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER I--The Old Lady in the Victoria - CHAPTER II--The Old Lady's Nephew - CHAPTER III--A Deal in Clerios - CHAPTER IV--The Steam Yacht _Titania_ - CHAPTER V--The Landlady at Woburn Place - CHAPTER VI--The Tenants of Roseneath Park - CHAPTER VII--The Woman Who Knew - CHAPTER VIII--Lord Northmuir's Young Relative - CHAPTER IX--A Journalistic Mission - CHAPTER X--The Coup of "The Planet" - CHAPTER XI--Kismet and a V.C. - CHAPTER XII--A New Love and an Old Enemy - - ---- - - - - -CHAPTER I--The Old Lady in the Victoria - - -Joan Carthew had reason to believe that it was her birthday, and she had -signalised the occasion by running away from home. But her birthday, -and her home, and her running away, were all so different from things -with the same name in the lives of other children, that the celebration -was not in reality as festive as it might seem if put into print. - -In the first place, she based her theory as to the date solely upon a -dim recollection that once, eons of years ago, when she had been a -petted little creature with belongings of her own (she was now twelve), -there had been presents and sweets on the 13th of May. She thought she -could recall looking eagerly forward to that anniversary; and she argued -shrewdly that, as her assortment of agreeable memories was small, in all -likelihood she had not made a mistake. - -In the second place, Joan's home was a Brighton lodging-house, where she -was a guest of the landlady, and not a "paying" guest, as she was -frequently reminded. In that vague time, eons ago, she had been left at -the house by her mother (who was, it seemed, an actress), with a sum of -money large enough to pay for her keep until that lady's return from -touring, at the end of the theatrical season. The end of the season and -the end of the money had come about the same time, but not the expected -mother. The beautiful Mrs. Carthew, whose professional name was Marie -Lanchester, had never reappeared, never written. Mrs. Boyle had made -inquiries, advertised, and spent many shillings on theatrical papers, -but had been able to learn nothing. Mr. Carthew was a vague shadow in a -mysterious background, less substantial even than a "walking gentleman," -and Mrs. Boyle, feeling herself a much injured woman, had in her first -passion of resentment boxed Joan's ears and threatened to send the -"brat" to the poorhouse. But the child was in her seventh year and -beginning to be useful. She liked running up and downstairs to answer -the lodgers' bells, which saved steps for the two overworked servants; -and, of course, when she became a financial burden instead of the means -of lightening burdens, it was discovered that she could do many other -things with equal ease and propriety. She could clean boots and knives, -wash dishes, help make beds, and carry trays; she could also be slapped -for misdeeds of her own and those of others, an act which afforded -invariable relief to the landlady's feelings. As years went on, further -spheres of usefulness opened, especially after the Boyle baby came; one -servant could be kept instead of two; and taking everything into -consideration, Joan's hostess decided to continue her charity. -Therefore, the child could have answered the conundrum, "When is a home -not a home?" out of the stores of her intimate experience. - -In the third place, she had only run away as far as one of the shelters -on the Marine Parade; she had brought the landlady's baby with her, and, -lurking grimly in the recesses of her mind, she had the virtuous -intention of going home again when Minnie should be hungry enough to -cry, at tea-time. - -Joan was telling the two-year-old Minnie a fairy story, made up out of -her own head, all about a gorgeous princess, and founded on the -adventures she herself would best like to have, when, just as the -narrative was working towards an exciting climax, a girl of Joan's own -age came in sight, walking with her governess. - -The story broke off short between Joan's little white teeth, which -suddenly shut together with a click. This did not signify much, as far -as the Boyle baby was concerned, for Joan unconsciously wove fairy tales -more for her own pleasure than that of her companion, and as a matter of -fact the warmth of the afternoon sunshine had acted as "juice of poppy -and mandragora" upon Minnie's brain. Her small, primrose-yellow head -was nodding, and she was unaware that the story had ended abruptly just -as the princess was beguiling the dragon, and that a girl almost as fine -as the princess herself was approaching. - -The new-comer was about twelve or thirteen, and she was more exquisitely -dressed than any child Joan remembered to have met. Perhaps, if the -apparition had been a good deal younger or older, the lodging-house -drudge would not have observed so keenly, or realised with a quick stab -of passionate pain the illimitable gulf dividing lives. But here was a -girl of her own age, her own height, her own needs and capacities, and -yet--the difference! - -It struck her like a thrust of some thin, delicate surgical instrument -which could inflict anguish, yet leave no trace. Joan's whole life was -spent in dreaming; without the dreams, existence at 12, Seafoam Terrace -would not have been tolerable to a young creature with the nerves of a -racehorse and the imagination of a Scheherazade. She lived practically -a double life within herself, but never until this moment had she been -consciously jealous of the happier fate of a fellow-creature. - -In looking from the shelter where she sat in shadow, at the other girl -who walked in sunshine, she knew the crunching pain of the monster's -fangs. - -The other girl had long, fair hair; she wore white muslin, foaming with -lace frills, white silk stockings, and shoes of white suede. Her face -was shaded by a great, rose-crowned, leghorn hat, which flopped into -soft curves and made a picture of small features which without it might -have seemed insignificant. The magnetism that was in Joan Carthew's -eyes forced the girl to turn and throw a glance as she passed at the -shabby child in faded brown serge (a frock altered from a discarded one -of Mrs. Boyle's) who sat huddled in the shelter, with a tawdrily dressed -baby asleep by her side. The glance had all the primitive, merciless -disdain of a sleek, fortunate young animal for a miserable, hunted one, -and Joan felt the meaning of it in her soul. - -"Why should she have everything and I nothing?" was the old-new question -which shaped itself wordlessly in the child's brain. "She looks at me as -if I were a rat. I'm not a rat! I'm as good as she is, if I had her -clothes. I'm cleverer, and prettier, too, I know I am--heaps and heaps. -Oh! I want to be like her, only better--I must be--I shall!" - -She quivered with the fierceness of her revolt against fate, yet in it -was no vulgar jealousy. The other girl's pale blue eyes, in one -contemptuous glance, had found every patch on her frock and shoes, had -criticised her old hat, and sneered at her little, rough, work-worn -hands, scorning her for them as if she were a creature of an inferior -race; but Joan had no personal hatred for the happier child, no wish for -revenge, no desire to take from the other what she had. The feeling -which shook her with sudden, stormy passion was merely the sharp -realisation of injustice, the conviction that by nature she herself was -worthy of the good things she had missed, the savage resolve to have -what she ought to have, at any cost. - -It was not tea-time yet, and Minnie was happily asleep; Joan was certain -to be scolded just as sharply on her return as if she had stopped away -for hours longer, therefore she might as well have drained her birthday -cup of stolen pleasure to the dregs; but the good taste of the draught -was gone. She yearned only to go home, to get the scolding over, and to -have a few minutes to herself in the tiny back room which she shared -with the baby. There seemed to be much to think of, much to decide. - -The child waked Minnie, who was cross at being roused, and refused to -walk. The quickest way of triumphing over the difficulty was to carry -her, and this method Joan promptly adopted. But the baby was heavy and -fractious. She wriggled in her young nurse's grasp, and just as Joan -had staggered round the corner of Seafoam Terrace, with her -disproportionate burden, she tripped and fell, under the windows of No. -12. - -Minnie roared, and there was an echoing shriek from the house. Mrs. -Boyle, who had been looking up and down the street in angry quest of her -missing drudge, saw the catastrophe and rushed to the rescue of her -offspring. She snatched the baby, who was more frightened than hurt, -and holding her by one arm, proceeded to administer chastisement to -Joan. - -Instinctively she knew that the girl was sensitive and proud, though she -had no kindred feelings in her own soul, and she delighted in -humiliating her drudge before the whole street. As she screamed -reproaches and harsh names, raining a shower of blows on Joan's ears and -head and burning cheeks, a face appeared in at least one window of each -house along the Terrace. Though a cataract of sparks cascaded before -the child's eyes, somehow she saw the faces and imagined a dozen for -every one. - -The shame seemed to her beyond bearing. She forgot even her love for the -baby, which (with the dreams) was the bright thread in the dull fabric -of her existence. After this martyrdom, she neither could nor would -live on in Seafoam Terrace, which with all its eyes had seen her beaten -like a dog. - -"Into the house with you, you lazy, good-for-nothing brat!" panted Mrs. -Boyle, when her hand was tired of smiting; and with a push, she would -have urged the girl towards the open front door, but Joan turned -suddenly and faced her. - -"No!" she cried, "I won't be your servant any more! I've done with you. -I will never go into your hateful house again, until I come back as a -grand lady you will have to bow down to and worship." - -These were grandiloquent words, and Mrs. Boyle would either have laughed -with a coarse sneer, or struck Joan again for her impudence, had not the -look in the child's great eyes actually cowed her for the moment. In -that moment the thin girl of twelve, whom she had beaten, seemed to grow -very tall and wonderfully beautiful; and in the next, she had gone like -a whirlwind which comes and passes before it has been realised. - -Joan was desperate. Her newly formed ambition and her stinging shame -mounted like frothing wine to her hot brain. She was in a mood to kill -herself--or make her fortune. - -For a time she flew on blindly, neither knowing nor caring which way she -went. By and by, as breath and strength failed, she ran more slowly, -then settled into a quick, unsteady walk. She was on the front, running -in the direction of Hove, and in the distance a handsome victoria with -two horses was coming. The sun shone on the silver harness and the -horses' satin backs. There was a coachman and a groom in livery, and in -the carriage sat an old lady dressed in grey silk, of the same soft tint -as her hair. - -Joan had seen this old lady in her victoria several times before, and -had pretended to herself, in one of her glittering dreams, that the lady -took a fancy to her and proposed adoption. - -Now, in a flash of thought, which came quick as the glint of light on a -bird's wing, the child told herself that this thing must happen. She -had no home, no people, nothing; she would stake her life on the one -throw which might win all or lose all. - -Without stopping to be afraid, or to argue whether she were brave or -foolhardy, she ran forward and threw herself in front of the horses. -The coachman pulled them up so sharply that the splendid pair plunged, -almost falling back on to the victoria, but he was not quick enough to -save the child one blow on the shoulder from an iron-shod hoof. - -In an instant the groom was in the road and had snatched her up, with a -few gruff words which Joan dimly heard and understood, although she had -just enough consciousness left to feign unconsciousness. - -"How dreadful! how dreadful!" the old lady was exclaiming. "You must -put the poor little thing in the carriage, and I'll drive to the nearest -doctor's." - -"Better let me take her in a cab to a hospital, my lady," advised the -groom. "It wasn't our fault. She ran under the horses' feet. Tomkins -and me can both swear to that." - -The arbitress of Joan's fate appeared to hesitate, and the child thought -best to revive enough to open her eyes (which she knew to be large and -soft as a fawn's) for one imploring glance. In the fall which had -caused her to drop the Boyle baby, she had grazed her forehead against a -lamp-post, and on the small, white face there remained a stain of blood -which was effective at this juncture. She started, put out her hand, -and groped for the old lady's dress, at which she caught as a drowning -man is said to catch at a straw. - -"On second thoughts, I will take her home, if she can tell me where she -lives. She seems to be reviving," said the lady. "Where do you live, my -poor little girl?" - -"I--don't live anywhere," gasped Joan, white-lipped. "I haven't any -mother or any home, or anything. I wanted to die." - -"Oh, you poor little pitiful thing! What a sad story!" crooned the old -lady. "You shall go to _my_ home, and stop till you get well, and I -will buy you a doll and lots of nice toys." - -The rapidly recovering Joan determined that, once in the old lady's -house, she would stop long after she had got well, and that she would, -sooner or later, have many things better than toys. But she smiled -gratefully, faintly, looking like a broken flower. The groom was -directed to place her on the seat, in a reclining posture, and she was -given the old lady's silk-covered air-cushion to rest her head upon. -She really ached in every bone, but she was exaggerating her sufferings, -saying to herself: "It's come! I've walked right into the fairy story, -and nothing shall make me walk out again. I've got nobody to look after -me, so I'll have to look after myself and be my own mamma. I can't help -it, whether it's right or wrong. I don't know much about right and -wrong, anyhow, so I shan't bother. I've got to grow up a grand, rich -lady; my chance has come, and I'd be silly not to take it." - -Having thus disposed of her conscience--such as her wretched life had -made it--Joan proceeded to faint again, as picturesquely as possible. -Her pretty little head, rippling over with thick, gold-brown hair, fell -on the grey silk shoulder and gave the kindly, rather foolish old heart -underneath a warm, protecting thrill. The child's features were lovely, -and her lashes very long and dark. If she had been ugly, or even plain, -in spite of her appealing ways, Lady Thorndyke (the widow of a rich City -knight) would probably have agreed to the groom's suggestion; but Joan -did not overestimate her own charms and their power. A quarter of a -century ago Lady Thorndyke had lost a little girl about the age of this -pathetic waif, and she had had no other child. There was a nephew on -the Stock Exchange, but Lady Thorndyke was interested in him merely -because she thought it her duty, though he had been brought up to take -it for granted that he would be her heir. In truth, the lonely woman -had half unconsciously sighed all her life for romance and for love. -She had never had much of either, and now, in this tragic child who -clung to her and would not be denied, there was promise of both. - -So Joan was borne in supreme spiritual triumph and slight bodily pain to -the big, old-fashioned Brighton house where her new protectress spent -the greater part of the year. She was put into a bed which smelled of -lavender and felt like a soft, warm cloud; she went through the ordeal -of being examined by a doctor, knowing that her whole future might -depend upon his verdict. She lay sick and quivering with a thumping -heart, lest he should say: "This child is perfectly well, except for a -bruise and a scratch or two. There is nothing to prevent her being sent -home." But in her anxiety Joan had worked herself into a fever. The -doctor was a fat, comfortable man, with children of his own, and the -escaped drudge could have worshipped him when he announced that she was -in a highly nervous state, and would be better for a few days' rest, -good nursing, and nourishing food. - -She had arnica and plasters externally, and internally beef-tea. Then -she told her story. Had it been necessary, Joan would have plunged into -a sea of fiction, but she had enough dramatic sense to perceive that -nothing could be more effective than the truth, dashed in with plenty of -colour. - -Joan's memory was as vivid as her imagination. She was fired to -eloquence by her own wrongs; and her word-sketch of the poor baby -deserted by a beautiful, mysterious actress, her picturesque conjectures -as to that actress's noble husband, the harrowing portrait of her -angelic young self as a lodging-house drudge, the final climax, painting -the savage punishment in the street, and her resolve to seek refuge in -death (the one fabrication in the tale), affected the secretly -sentimental heart of the City knight's widow like music. - -"I would rather have been trampled to death under your horses' feet than -go back!" sobbed the child. - -"Don't be frightened and excite yourself, my poor, pretty little dear," -Lady Thorndyke soothed her. "No harm shall come to you, I promise -that." - -Joan's instinctive tact had been sharpened to diplomacy by the constant -need of self-defence. She said no more; she only looked; and her eyes -were like those of a wounded deer which begs its life of the hunter. - -Lady Thorndyke began to turn over various schemes for Joan's advantage; -but that same evening, which was Saturday, her nephew, George Gallon, -arrived from town to spend Sunday with his aunt. She told him somewhat -timidly about the lovely child she was sheltering, and the hard-mouthed, -square-chinned young man threw cold water on her projects. He said that -the girl was no doubt a designing little minx, who richly deserved what -she had got from the charitable if quick-tempered woman who gave her a -home. He advised his aunt to be rid of the young viper as soon as -possible, and meanwhile to leave the care of her entirely to servants. - -His strong nature impressed itself upon Lady Thorndyke's weak one, as -red-hot iron cauterises tender flesh. She believed all he said while he -was with her, and conceived a distrust of Joan; but Gallon had an -important deal on in the City for Monday, and was obliged to leave -early, having extracted a half-promise from his aunt that the intruder -should go forth that day, or at latest the next. - -He had not seen Joan Carthew, and therefore had not reckoned on her -strength and fascination as forces powerful enough to fence with his -influence. - -Joan felt the difference in her patroness's manner, as a swallow feels -the coming of a storm. She knew that there had been a visitor, and she -guessed what had happened. She grew cold with the chill of presentiment, -but gathered herself together for a fight to the death. - -"You look much better this morning, my dear," began Lady Thorndyke -nervously. "You will perhaps be well enough to get up and be dressed by -and by, to drive out with me, and choose yourself a doll, or anything -you would like. You will be glad to hear that--that my nephew and I -called on Mrs. Boyle yesterday, and--she is sorry if she was harsh. In -future, you will not be living on her charity. I shall give her a small -yearly sum for your board and clothing. You will be sent to school, as -you ought to have been long ago, and really I don't see how she managed -to avoid this duty. But in any case you will be happy." - -Joan turned over on her face, and the bed shuddered with her tearing -sobs. She was not really crying. The crisis was too tense for tears. - -"Don't, dear, don't," pleaded Lady Thorndyke, feeling horribly guilty. -"I will see you sometimes, and----" - -"See me sometimes!" echoed the child. "You are the only person who has -ever been kind to me. I can't live without you now. I won't try. Oh, -it was cruel to bring me here and show me what happiness could be, just -to drive me away again into the dark!" - -"But----" the distressed old lady had begun to stammer, when the child -slipped out of bed and fell at her protectress's feet. - -"Keep me with you!" she implored. "I'll be your servant. I'll live in -the kitchen. I'll eat what your dog eats. Only let me stay." - -She wound her slim, childish arms round Lady Thorndyke's waist, her eyes -streamed with tears at last; her beautiful hair curled piteously over -the grey-silk lap. She was at that moment a great actress, for though -she was honestly grateful, she neither wished nor intended to live in -the kitchen and eat what the dog ate. She would be a child of the house -or she would be nothing. Her beauty, her despair, and her humility were -irresistible. Lady Thorndyke forgot George Gallon and clasped the child -in her arms, crying in sympathy. "If you care so much, dear, how can I -let you go?" she whimpered. - -"I care enough to die for you, or to die if I lose you!" Joan vowed. - -"You shall not die, and you shall not lose me!" exclaimed the old lady, -remembering her nephew now and defying him. "You shall stay and be my -little girl." - -Joan did stay. Before the week ended, and another visit from George -Gallon was due, she had so entwined herself round Lady Thorndyke's heart -that the rather cowardly old woman had courage to face her nephew with -the news that she meant to keep the waif whom "Providence had sent her." - - - - -CHAPTER II--The Old Lady's Nephew - - -At first there was no question of formal adoption. Joan simply stayed -on and was allowed to feel that she had a right to stay. Gallon did all -he could to oust her, for his mind had telescopic power and brought the -future near. He feared the girl, but he dared not actually offend his -aunt, lest he should lose at once what he wished to safeguard himself -against losing later. - -The child made Lady Thorndyke happier than she had ever been. Her -presence created sunshine. She was never naughty like other children; -she was never sulky nor disagreeable. A governess was procured for her, -a mild, common-place lady whom Joan despised and astonished with her -progress. "I was born knowing a lot of things which she could never -learn," the little girl told herself scornfully. But she did not -despise George Gallon, whom she occasionally saw, nor did she exactly -fear him, because she believed that she would be able to hold her own in -case the day ever came for a second contest, as she foresaw it would. - -When she had learned all that the governess knew, and rather more -besides, she was sent to a boarding-school in Paris to be "finished." -After her first term, she came back to Brighton for the Christmas -holidays, so grown up, so beautiful, and so distinguished that Lady -Thorndyke was very proud. "What shall I give you for Christmas, my -dear?" she asked. "A diamond ring?" - -Joan kissed her withered leaf of a hand. - -"If you love me," she said, "give me the right to call myself your -daughter. That is the one thing in the world you have left me hungry -for. Will you adopt me, so that I can feel I am your own, own child? -Think what it would be if any one ever claimed me and took me away from -you!" - -Joan's love was not all a pretence. She would have been a monster if it -had been, instead of the mere girl of seventeen she was, with a large -nature, and capacities for good which had been stunted and turned the -wrong way. But the vicissitudes of life had taught her to be even more -observant than she was critical, and she knew as well how to manage Lady -Thorndyke as if the kind old creature had been a marionette, worked with -strings. It was not necessary to let her benefactress know all that was -in her mind, nor how she had calculated that to be the rich woman's -legally adopted daughter ought to mean being her heiress as well. While -she pleaded to be Lady Thorndyke's "own, own child," she was saying to -herself: "I will make a good deal better use of the money than that -hateful George Gallon would." - -No normal young man, and no sentimental old lady, could have doubted the -disinterestedness of a girl with eyes like Joan Carthew's. Lady -Thorndyke was delighted with the dear child's affection, and promptly -sent for her lawyer to talk over the matter of a formal adoption. She -also announced her intention of altering her will, and leaving only -twenty thousand pounds to her nephew, the bulk of her property to Joan, -"who would no doubt be greatly surprised." - -Thinking it but fair that George should be prepared for this change in -his prospects, she told him what she intended to do, in the presence of -a friend, lest there should be a scene. - -There was no scene, for George was a sensible man, and saw that a little -butter on his bread was better than none. But he hated Joan, and -respected her at the same time because she had triumphed. He was not -quite beaten yet, however. He had a talk, which he hoped sounded manly -and frank, with his young rival, told Joan that he bore her no grudge, -and paid her a compliment. When she went back to school, flowers and -sweets began to arrive from "Cousin George"; and the girl saw the game -he was playing and smiled. - -When she came home for Easter, he proposed. He got her on a balcony, by -moonlight, where he said that he had loved her for years, and could not -wait any longer to speak out what was in his heart. - -"Your heart!" laughed Joan, with all the insolence of a beautiful, -spoiled young heiress of eighteen, who has pined for revenge upon a -hated man, and got it at last. "Your heart!" It was delicious to throw -policy to the wind for once and be frankly herself. She was thoroughly -enjoying the situation, as she stood with the pure radiance of the -moonlight shining down upon her bright head and her white, filmy gown. -"What a fool you must think me, Mr. Gallon! It's your pockets you would -have me fill, not your heart. I acknowledge I have owed you a debt for -a long time, but it's not a debt of love. When I was a forlorn, -friendless child, you tried to turn me out into the cold; and if I -hadn't been stronger than you, you would have succeeded. Instead, it was -I who did that. I've always meant to pay, for I hate debts. No, I will -not marry you. No; nothing that your aunt means to give me shall be -yours. Now I have paid, and we are quits." - -[Illustration: "'No, I will not marry you.'"] - -George Gallon was cold with fury. "Don't be too sure," he said in his -harsh voice, which Joan had always hated. "They laugh best who laugh -last." - -"I know that," the girl retorted; and passing him to go indoors, where -Lady Thorndyke dozed after dinner, she threw over her shoulder a laugh -to spice her words. - -The next day she went back to school, pleased with herself and what she -had done, for she was no longer in the least afraid of George Gallon. - -Some things are in the air. It was in the air at school that Joan would -be a great heiress. The girls were very nice to her, and Joan enjoyed -their flatteries, though she saw through them and made no intimate -friends. When in June, shortly before the coming of the summer -holidays, the girl was telegraphed for, because Lady Thorndyke had had a -paralytic stroke and was dying, there was a sensation in the school. Of -course, as Joan would now inherit something like a million, she would -not return, but after her time of mourning would come out in Society, -well chaperoned, be presented, and probably marry at least a viscount. -The other girls were nicer than ever; tears were shed over her, and -farewell presents bestowed. - -When Joan arrived in England, Lady Thorndyke was dead, and the girl was -sad, for she realised how well she had loved her benefactress. After -the funeral came the reading of the will. The dead woman's adopted -daughter, the servants, and George Gallon were the only persons present -besides the lawyer. Joan's heart scarcely quickened its beating, for -she was absolutely confident. Any surprise which might come could be -merely a matter of a few thousands more or less. She sat leaning back -in an armchair, very calm and beautiful in her deep mourning. George -Gallon's eyes never left her face, and they lit as at last she lifted -her head, with bewilderment on the suddenly paling face. - -There had been a few bequests to servants and to a favourite charity. -Everything else which Lady Thorndyke died possessed of was left -unconditionally to her nephew, George Gallon. There was no mention of -Joan Carthew. The will was dated ten years before. Lady Thorndyke had -put off making the new one, and death had rendered the delay -irrevocable. Joan Carthew had not a penny in the world; save for her -education, her clothes, and the memory of six happy years, she was no -better off than on the day when she threw herself under Lady Thorndyke's -carriage. - -[Illustration: "Joan Carthew had not a penny in the world."] - -At first she could not believe that it was true. It was like having -rolled a heavy stone almost to the top of an incredibly steep hill, to -find oneself suddenly at the bottom, crushed under the stone. But the -solicitor's stilted sympathy, and the look in George Gallon's eyes, -which said: "Now perhaps you are sorry for having made a fool of -yourself," brought her roughly face to face with the truth. At the same -time she was stimulated. The words, the look, braced her to assume -courage, if she had it not. - -She was down--very far down; but she was young, she was beautiful, she -was brave, and life had early taught her to be unscrupulous. The world -was, after all, an oyster; she would open it yet somehow and make it -hers; this was a vow. - -When the solicitor had gone, George remained. The house was his house -now. - -"What do you intend to do?" he inquired. - -"I have my plans," Joan answered. - -In the man's veins stirred a curious thrill, which was something like -dread. The girl was wonderful, and formidable still, not to be -despised. He half feared her, yet he could not resist the temptation to -humiliate the creature who had laughed at him. - -"It is a pity you never learned anything useful, like typing and -shorthand," said he patronisingly. "If you had, I would have taken you -into our office as secretary. There's two pounds a week in the job, and -that's better than the wages of a nursery governess, which, in the -circumstances, you will, no doubt, be thankful to get. After what has -passed between us, you would hardly care, I suppose, to accept charity -from me, even if I were inclined to offer it." - -"I would take no favour from you," said Joan, in an odd, excited voice. -"But I _will_ accept that secretaryship; you'll find me competent." - -George stared. "You don't know what you are talking about. You have no -knowledge of typing or shorthand." - -"I am expert in both. I thought, as a woman with large property, the -accomplishments might be useful to me, and I insisted on taking them up -at school instead of one or two others more classical but not as -practical." - -"You would actually come and work in my office, almost as a menial, on a -salary of two pounds a week, while I enjoy the million you expected -would be yours?" - -"Beggars mustn't be choosers," returned Joan, drily. "You don't -withdraw the offer?" - -"No-o," replied George slowly, doubtful whether his scheme of -humiliation had been quite wise, yet finding a certain pleasure in it -still. "The girl's expression is queer," he said to himself. "She -looks as if she had something up her sleeve." - -He was right. Joan had something "up her sleeve," something too small -to be visible, yet large enough, perhaps, to be the seed of fortune. - - - - -CHAPTER III--A Deal in Clerios - - -George Gallon had lately left a well-known firm of stockbrokers, in -which he had been junior partner, and set up business on his own -account. He had started at a trying time, about the close of the Boer -war, when the financial world was in a state of depression; but he had -since brought off two or three _coups_ for his clients and himself, and -though he was unpopular, he had begun to be talked of among a limited -circle in the City as a man who would succeed. - -Joan Carthew had heard "George's luck" discussed by guests at Lady -Thorndyke's, when she had been at home from school on her holidays; -therefore it was that she had so promptly accepted the offer thrown to -her in derision, as a bone is flung to a chained dog. "If I keep my -eyes and ears open, I shall get tips," was the thought that flashed into -her mind. - -If Joan had been an ordinary eighteen-year-old girl, she would have -faltered before the difficulty of turning such "tips" to her own -advantage, on a salary of two pounds a week; but she would not have -entered George Gallon's service if she had been one to falter before -difficulties; and three days after the reading of the will which left -the girl a pensioner on her own wits, she presented herself at the -office in Copthall Court. - -It was early, and Gallon had not yet arrived. However, his curiosity to -see whether Joan would really keep her engagement brought him to the -City half an hour earlier than usual. When he came in, there sat at an -inner office, at the desk used by his late stenographer, a young woman -plainly dressed in black, though not in mourning deep enough to depress -the spirits of the beholder. - -It was Joan Carthew. She had already taken off her hat and hung it on a -peg. Gallon noticed instantly that her beautiful golden-brown hair was -dressed more simply than he had seen it. Every detail of her costume -was suited to the new part she was about to play--that of the business -woman. - -"Good morning, Mr. Gallon," she said crisply. "Your head clerk told me -this would be my desk. I have brought my own typewriter. I hope you -don't mind. You know, from the test you made the other day, that I take -down quickly from dictation, and that my typing is clear. I am ready to -begin work whenever you are." - -"Glad to find you so businesslike," said Gallon, uncomfortable in spite -of himself, though there was a keen relish in the situation. - -"You will, I hope, never find me anything else," quietly replied Joan. - -So the new _regime_ began. At first, for some days, the man was ill at -ease, could not collect his thoughts for dictation, and stammered in his -speech. He regretted that his desire to humiliate the girl had tempted -him to offer this position; but Joan's attitude was so tactful, so -unobtrusive, that little by little he forgot his awkwardness and even -the meanness of his motive in making her his dependent. He almost -forgot that he had ever asked her to marry him; and because he found her -astonishingly clever and useful, he waived the idea of further insults -which had flitted through his head when first the dethroned heiress -became his secretary. - -One autumn morning, Gallon was late. Joan sat waiting in his office, and -had opened such correspondence as was not marked "Private," had typed -several letters ready for her employer's signature, and having no more -business which could be transacted until he appeared, began to glance -through an illustrated Society weekly which she took in. This paper she -always read with eagerness; not because she had the morbid interest of -an outsider in the doings of Society, with a capital S, but because any -information she could glean about important people might be of service -in the career to which she undauntedly looked forward. - -On one page of this particular paper, country houses, electric-launches, -libraries, motor-cars, and even family jewels were advertised; and it -was an absorbing page to Joan. To-day she gazed long at the -reproduction of a handsome steam-yacht, which for some weeks past had -been advertised for sale, for the sum of twelve thousand pounds. Only a -few months ago, she had been planning to have some day a yacht of her -own. It had been one of the many pleasant things she had meant to do -with Lady Thorndyke's money. - -"I shouldn't mind owning the _Titania_, if she's as good as her -photograph," the girl was thinking, when George Gallon and a fat, -foreign-looking man came in. - -"You can go back into the next room, Miss Carthew," said George, -abruptly. "I shall not need you at present, and you may tell them -outside that I am not to be disturbed." - -Joan rose and walked into the outer office, where the three clerks, who -were all more or less in love with the beautiful secretary, glanced up -joyfully from their work at sight of her. The youngest, whose desk was -close to the door, had already proposed. He was a dreamy youth with a -fluffy brain, but his father was a rich man known in the City as "the -Salmon King," who cherished hopes that one day his son would cut a -figure on the Stock Exchange. These family details the young man had -confided to Joan as a lure to matrimony, and though she had answered -that he was a "foolish boy," and nothing was farther from her intention -than to settle down as Mrs. Tommy Mellis, she had not in so many words -refused the honour. - -Now she whispered a request that, if he had still a regard for her, he -would slip away and buy a box of chocolates, for the need of which she -was perishing. A moment later Tommy was out of his chair, and Joan was -in it. His was the one seat in the room where conversation in Gallon's -private office could by any means be overheard; and Gallon was aware -that whatever might go in at Tommy's right ear promptly went out at the -left, without leaving the smallest impression of its meaning. - -"Is the deal certain to come off?" she heard George inquire. - -"Sure as the sun is to rise to-morrow," replied another voice with a -foreign accent. "You are the only outsider in the know. That's worth -something, isn't it?" - -"It's worth what I've promised for it." - -"At least that. And I want an advance to-day." - -"In such a hurry? Remember I shan't make anything, or be sure you -haven't fooled me, for weeks. Still, I can manage a hundred." - -"I need ten times that." - -"You'll have it the day the Clerios are taken over." - -"'Sh! not so loud! And no names, for Heaven's sake, man!" - -"Oh, that's all right. The clerk near the door is a fool. The only one -out there with any real brains is a girl, but she doesn't know the -difference between Clerios and clerics. That's why I employ a woman for -a secretary. She spends her spare energy on the fashions, and doesn't -bother about things which are none of her business." - -In spite of this protest, Gallon dropped his voice. Only a word here -and there started out of the broken murmurs on the other side of the -door; but one more sentence, almost whole, came to her ears. "Grierson -Mordaunt ... sort of chap ... carries these things through." Then -reappeared Tommy with the chocolates, and Joan went to her own desk; but -the stray bits of information were as flint and steel in her brain, and -together they struck out a spark of inspiration. She was as sure as if -she had heard all details of the transaction that the World's Shipping -Combine, of which the American millionaire, Grierson Mordaunt, stood at -the head, had arranged to take over the Clerio line of Italian boats -plying between Mediterranean ports. The fat man with the foreign accent -was no doubt the confidential agent of the Italian company, and being -acquainted with George Gallon and his methods, had given the secret away -for a consideration. Doubtless he was poor, perhaps in difficulties; -otherwise he would have kept the information and bought all the Clerio -shares he could lay his hands upon. - -Now Joan knew why Gallon had written yesterday to a man in Manchester, -asking him how many Clerios he had to sell, and what was the lowest -price he was prepared to take for them, adding that it would be useless, -in the present depressed state of the market, to name a high figure. -This man had been requested to wire his answer, and at any moment it -might arrive. - -When Joan had jumped so far in her conclusions, Gallon escorted his -visitor out, flinging back word that he would be in again in half an -hour. - -The girl's blood sang in her ears. It seemed to her that Fortune was -knocking at the door; but could she find the key to open it? She called -all her wits to the rescue, and in five minutes that key was grating in -the lock. - -In Gallon's private room was a small desk, which she used when her -services were wanted there. This gave her an excuse to go in, and in -passing she threw a glance at Tommy Mellis, which caused him, after the -lapse of a decent interval (he counted eighty seconds), to follow. - -"Once you said you would do anything for me," she began, with a lovely -look. "Did you mean it?" - -"Rather!" - -"Well, then, the next question is: Will your father do anything for -_you_?" - -"He'll do a good deal." - -"If you tell him you've a tip about some shares that are bound to rise, -will he give you the money to buy them?" - -"He'd lend it. That's his way. He'd be tickled to see me taking an -interest in business. But what has that got to do with----" - -"I want to buy some shares--lots of shares--all I can get hold of. -To-day they're going cheap. To-morrow, who can say? They are Clerios." - -"But, look here, even I know that Clerios are no good. It's a badly -managed line, and the shares are down to next to nothing." - -"All the better. Mr. Gallon mustn't know you are in this, as he wants -to get hold of all the shares himself. You must trust me enough to have -them put into my name, and when I've got your profit for you, we'll go -halves. Can you see your father inside half an hour?" - -"His place is just round the corner." - -"Well, then, if you _do_ care anything for me, ask him to see you -through a big deal. You shall really make on it, I promise you, -something worth having besides my--gratitude." - -"The governor's a queer fish. If I should let him in----" - -"You won't let him in. But we don't want your father or anybody else in -with us. All we want is the loan, and his name, which is a good one in -the City, I know. I trust you for that. You must show how clever you -are, if you're anxious to please me. I'll manage the rest. Now, like a -dear, good boy, run off and arrange things with your father." - -Again Tommy became knight-errant, and hardly was he out of the way when -a strange voice was heard in the adjoining office. "Mr. Gallon in? I'm -Mr. Mitchison, from Manchester." - -"Mr. Gallon is out at present, but----" a clerk had begun, when Joan -appeared and cut him short. "Mr. Gallon wishes me to see Mr. Mitchison, -in his absence. Will you kindly step in here, sir?" - -The gentleman from Manchester obeyed. Joan's quick eyes noted his -worried air and the genteel shabbiness of his clothing. "I am Mr. -Gallon's confidential secretary," she said. "I know about this business -of Clerios. You came instead of wiring? Mr. Gallon rather expected you -would." - -"I had to come to London in a day or two, anyhow, and it's always more -satisfactory to do business in person." - -"Exactly. Well, I'm sorry to tell you that Mr. Gallon has seen reason -to change his mind about buying your block of shares in the Clerio line, -as he has some big things on now, and finds his hands full; but Mr. -Mellis, a client of his--'the Salmon King,' you know--wants to invest -some money privately for his son. Mr. Gallon has advised them that, -though Clerios are not likely to rise much for some years, there is a -certain, if small, dividend; and if you can tell young Mr. Mellis where -they can get hold of other blocks of the same shares, it might then be -worth his while to take over yours. Those you hold are hardly enough -for him without others." - -"I know several men in Genoa, where I did business for some years, who -hold shares and would part with them for a decent price. I could work -the deal for Mr. Mellis, I'm certain." - -"Good. He's at his father's office now. I have Mr. Gallon's permission -to introduce you to him, but his only free time this morning is in the -next half-hour. I can go with you to Mr. Mellis senior's office, if -you're inclined to settle matters at once." - -"The Salmon King," who had earned his title by building up the largest -"canned goods" business of its kind in England, had offices on the -ground floor of an imposing building not far away, and Joan was lucky -enough to guide her companion to the door without the dreaded misfortune -of meeting George Gallon on the way. As they crossed the threshold, -Tommy Mellis issued from a room with a ground-glass door. Joan hurried -to him, asked if his father had been kind, was assured that all was well -so far, and hastened to explain the new development of affairs so -clearly that even Tommy's slow intelligence grasped her meaning without -difficulty. "When I've introduced you to Mr. Mitchison, offer him -twenty pounds a share (their nominal value is fifty), and if necessary -go up to twenty-five. Tell him he shall have a commission on all the -other shares he can get, if the whole thing can be fixed up by wire -to-morrow. Say there is a man coming to see you the day after about -some other investment, which your father prefers, but you've taken a -fancy to this, and want everything settled before the two older men come -together. As Gallon must do all his business in Clerios privately, and -doesn't want to ask for them in the House, that will give us time to -work." - -"By Jove! this will mean a lot of money," faltered Tommy. "Of course, -I'm delighted to do this for you, but if the governor----" - -Joan soothed his fears; and introduced Mitchison to young Mellis, who -took them both into a small, empty office. She hovered about during the -business conversation which ensued, putting in a word here and there, -and impressing the Manchester man with her shrewdness. In his opinion, -George Gallon had a treasure for a secretary, and he was grateful to her -for pushing on his affairs so well, especially as he did not believe he -could have got from Gallon the price which Mellis was willing to give. - -When Joan returned to the office in Copthall Court, her employer had not -yet come back. "Don't tell Mr. Gallon I've been out, will you?" she -appealed to the clerks, her slaves. As she spoke, the door opened, and -Gallon entered, just in time to hear the ingenuous request. The young -men flushed in consternation for her, but the girl did not change -colour. As a matter of fact, she had known that George was coming up, -and had probably seen her on the stairs. She had not spoken without -design. - -Having been delayed vexatiously, Gallon was not in a good mood, and his -black ones were unpleasant for underlings. A frowning look and a -gesture of the head called Joan to his private office. She followed -meekly; but when the scolding had reached the stage which she mentally -designated as "ripe," her meekness vanished like snow in sunshine. - -"How dare you speak to me like that!" she exclaimed, her eyes blazing. -"I'm not your servant, though I have served you well. I leave to-day." - -"This moment, if you choose," George flung back at her furiously, though -in reality he had not intended matters to touch this climax. Joan had -become valuable, but, as he said to himself in his sullen anger, she was -the "last person in the world whose impudence he would stand." - -When Joan had gathered up her few belongings, and remarked that she -would send for her typewriter, she added: "Mr. Mitchison, of Manchester, -called, and wanted me to tell you that he'd already parted with the -shares you wired about last night. I asked who had bought them, but he -was pledged to secrecy. I believe that is all I need say, except that -you will find all your correspondence in good order, to be taken over by -my successor; and as you have declared so often that clever -stenographers are starving for want of employment, you will not be long -in obtaining one." - -With this she was off, and, hailing the first cab she saw (though in her -circumstances a cab was an extravagance), drove to Woburn Place, where -she lived in a back bedroom on the top floor of a cheap boarding-house. - -She remained only long enough, however, to change into one of the pretty -dresses left from last spring's wardrobe. Looking as if her home should -be Park Lane instead of Bloomsbury, she went to the office of the -illustrated weekly in which she had been interested that morning. When -she inquired the address of _Titania's_ owner, she was told that all -business connected with the yacht would be done at the advertising -bureau of the paper. This was a blow, for the proposal that Joan had to -make was not, perhaps, of a kind suited to the taste of a mere -commonplace agent. She thought for a moment, and then said, with a -slight accent which she had learned through mimicking a girl at school: -"Well, I'm very sorry, but I'm afraid we can't do business, then. I'm an -American girl; my name is Mordaunt. Grierson Mordaunt is my uncle. I -guess you've heard of him. I want to buy a yacht, in a hurry--my people -generally are in a hurry--and I thought this one might do. But if I -can't see the owner myself, it's no use. _Good_ morning." - -[Illustration: "Looking as if her home should be Park Lane instead of -Bloomsbury, she went to the office."] - -Before she had got half-way to the door the dapper manager of the -advertising bureau stopped her. Possibly an exception might be made in -her favour; he would write to his client. - -"Can you send the letter by district messenger?" shrewdly asked the -newly-fledged Miss Mordaunt. - -The manager admitted that this could be done. To what hotel should he -transmit the answer? "I'm staying with friends, and I don't want them -to know about this till it's settled," said Joan. "I tell you what I'll -do: I'll wait here." - - - - -CHAPTER IV--The Steam Yacht _Titania_ - - -She did wait, for three-quarters of an hour; and at the end of that time -the manager received a reply to his letter. In consequence, he told -Joan that Lady John Bevan would see her at Kensington Park Mansions. - -As soon as the girl heard the name of Lady John Bevan, she knew why the -yacht was for sale, and was hopeful that the eccentric proposition she -meant to make might be received with favour. Lord John Bevan was in -prison, for the crime of forgery, committed after losing a fortune at -Monte Carlo. - -Joan took another cab to Kensington Park Mansions--a mean shelter for a -woman whose environment had once been brilliant. But Lady John, a tall -and peculiarly elegant woman, shone out like a jewel in an unworthy -setting. The two women looked at each other with admiration, and there -was eagerness in the elder's voice as she said: "You want to buy the -_Titania_, Miss Mordaunt?" - -"I'm not sure yet, till I've tried, to see how I like her," replied -Joan. "That's fair, isn't it? What I want, if I see the yacht, take -fancy to her, and we can come to terms, is to hire the _Titania_ for a -while. Then, at the end of that time, if I don't buy her myself, I'll -sell her for you to somebody else; that's a promise. What would you want -for your yacht for a couple of months, all in working order, and the -captain and crew's money included?" - -"Five hundred pounds," returned Lady John. "You can see her at Cowes." - -"Well, I don't mind telling you that's more than I expected. I'm G. B. -Mordaunt's niece, and some day I suppose I shall be one of the richest -women in America, but my money's tied up till I'm twenty-five. I've only -an allowance, and Uncle Grierson, who is my guardian, is hard as nails. -I'll tell you what I can do, though. I have some shares which are worth -a lot of money, but I don't want to deal with them myself, as their -value is a secret, and my uncle would be mad with me if he knew I was -using it. What I was going to say is this. The shares I speak of are -worth mighty little to those who aren't 'in the know,' and a lot to -those who are. If you'll call to-morrow morning at ten o'clock on a -stockbroker in the City, whose address I'll give you, and tell him -you've a block of Clerios to dispose of, he'll jump at the offer. All -you must do is to stand firm, and you can get eight hundred pounds out -of him. If he says they're no good, just let your eyes twinkle and tell -him G. B. Mordaunt's niece has been talking to you. That will settle -Mr. George Gallon! Keep your five hundred for the yacht, and give the -three hundred change to me. Of course, this is provided I like the -yacht. You give me an order to see her at Cowes. I'll start at once, -wire you what I think of her, and, if it's all right, I'll call here -first thing in the morning with the share certificates." - -Carried away by the girl's magnetism and dash, Lady John Bevan would -have said "Yes" to almost anything. She said "Yes" now with a -promptness which surprised herself when she thought of it afterwards, by -the cold light of reason. - -Joan arrived at Cowes before dark, and was delighted with the _Titania_ -and her crew. She wired her approval to Lady John, and telegraphed Tommy -Mellis, asking him to meet her at Waterloo for the eleven o'clock train -from Southampton, bringing the share certificates which had that morning -been Mitchison's. She was sure that Tommy would not fail, and he did -not. They had supper together in the grill-room of the Carlton, as Joan -was not in evening dress. She told him all she chose to tell, and no -more; and thus ended the busiest day of Joan Carthew's life. - -The transaction in which Lady John Bevan was to act as catspaw came off -next morning as the girl had expected, and she would have given -something handsome if she could have seen George Gallon's face when he -found himself obliged to pay, for the very shares he had expected to -obtain yesterday, four times what he had intended to offer Mitchison. -His profit would now be small, when the great _coup_ came off; still, he -could not afford to refuse the chance, and Joan knew it. Some day, she -meant that he should also know to whom he owed his defeat; but that day -was not yet. - -For the shares sold by Mitchison he had received two hundred pounds. A -like sum Joan agreed to place in Tommy's hands, as part profit of the -transaction; and when Lady John Bevan was paid for the two months' hire -of the _Titania_, the girl would have a hundred pounds over, to "play -with," as she expressed it to herself. The other shares which Mitchison -was pledged to obtain from Genoa would be available within the next few -days, and Joan had made up her mind what to do with them by and by. She -had had several inspirations since overhearing snatches of conversation -between her employer and his Italian visitor yesterday morning, and one -of these inspirations concerned Lady John Bevan. - -Lady John was pitied by the old friends in the old life from which -poverty and misfortune had removed her. People would have been glad to -be "nice" to her in any cheap way which did not cost too much money or -trouble, if she had let them. But the woman was a proud woman, who -still loved her husband in spite of his guilt, and she had not cared to -go out of her hired flat in Kensington to be patronised by the world -which had once flattered and fought for her invitations. Joan guessed -as much of this as she did not know, and when Lady John wished her, -rather wistfully, a "pleasant cruise," the girl said suddenly: "Come -along and be my chaperon! My aunt Caroline, Uncle Grierson Mordaunt's -sister, came to England with me; but she hates the sea, and flatly -refuses to do any yachting. I'm not sorry, because she's a prim old -dear, and what I want is to see a little life and fun. I've been kept -very close till now, and though I'm of age, I'm only just out, so I -don't know many people, and you would be sure to meet lots of nice -friends of yours, to whom you'd introduce me. It's so foggy and horrid -here now; I'm going to make straight for the Riviera with the _Titania_, -and it will do you good. Please come." - -Lady John could not resist the prospect, or that "Please," spoken -cooingly, with lovely, pleading eyes and a childlike touch on her arm. -Besides, she was fond of the _Titania_, and before she quite knew what -she was doing, she had promised to chaperon Grierson Mordaunt's niece. - -Considering the way in which she was handicapped by false pretences and -shortness of cash, Joan could not have done better for herself. She -told Lady John that she had had a disagreement with the friends with -whom she had been staying, and wished to be recommended to a hotel for -the few days before they could get off on the _Titania_. Of course, Lady -John invited her to the flat, and the girl accepted. She asked her new -chaperon's advice about dressmakers and milliners for the Riviera -outfit, which must be got together in a hurry. Lady John had paid all -her own bills after the crash, with money grudgingly supplied by -relations, and was still in the "good books" of the tradespeople she had -once lavishly patronised. Introduced by her as a niece of the -well-known American millionaire, Joan had unlimited credit to procure -unlimited pretty things. Everything had to be bought ready made; and at -the end of the week the steam-yacht _Titania_, with "Miss Jenny -Mordaunt" and Lady John Bevan on board, was bounding gaily over the -bright waters of the Bay. A few days later, the _Titania_ made one of a -colony of other yachts lying snugly in Nice harbour. - -Now, Joan's wisdom in the choice of a chaperon justified itself even -more pointedly than when it had been a question of a pilot among shoals -of tradespeople. Lady John believed in her young charge, whose -statements concerning her engaging self it had never occurred to the -elder woman to doubt. Having undertaken the duties of a chaperon, she -was conscientious in carrying them out, and lost no time in picking up -old friendships which might be valuable to Miss Mordaunt--just how -valuable, or in what way, Lady John little dreamed. - -Not only did she know a number of rich and titled English folk, who had -come out to spend the cold months at their villas, or in fashionable -hotels, at Nice, Monte Carlo, and Mentone, but she could claim -acquaintance with various foreign royalties and personages of high -degree. These latter especially were delighted to meet the beautiful -American girl, who was so rich and independent that she travelled about -the world on her own yacht. It was nobody's business that the _Titania_ -was but hired for two months, since it was Miss Mordaunt's pleasure to -pose as the owner. The name of the yacht had been changed, for politic -reasons, since gay Lord John had careered about the waterways of the -world in her; she had been newly decorated, and the colour of her paint -had undergone a change, therefore she could pass unrecognised by all -save experts. Joan and her chaperon kept "open house" on board. The -luncheon-table was always laid for twelve, in case any one strolled on -in the morning whom it would be agreeable to detain. On fine days--and -what days were not fine on these shores beloved of the sun?--tea was -always served on deck under the rose-and-white awning; and Russian -princes, Austrian barons and baronesses, French counts and countesses, -with a sprinkling of the English nobility, came early and stayed late to -drink the Orange Pekoe and eat the exquisite little cakes provided by -the confiding tradespeople of Nice. Joan paid for nothing, and got -everything. Was she not a great American heiress, and was not the yacht -alone a guarantee of her trustworthiness? - -Not even the owners of famous American yachts lying alongside suspected -the girl to be other than she seemed, though they were of the world in -which Grierson Mordaunt was prominent. He was not a man who made -intimate friends, and none of those who knew him best had any reason to -doubt that he had a pretty niece named Jenny. Concerning the great -Mordaunt himself Joan kept posted as to his whereabouts. She read the -papers and followed his movements in Florida; therefore she felt safe -and pursued her business more or less calmly. - -For it was business more than pleasure which had brought the girl on -this adventure, though she knew how to combine the two. Her hospitality, -her breakfasts, her tea and cakes, her lavish dinners, were not supplied -to her guests for nothing, though they were not aware that they were -paying save by the honour of their presence. When Joan had established -friendly relations with a person worth cultivating (she abjured all -others), her next step was to drop a careless word about a wonderful -"tip" she had got from Grierson Mordaunt. "It's all in the family," she -would say, laughing, "or he would never have given it away; and, of -course, I mustn't. He just said to me: 'Buy up a certain thing while you -can get it,' and I did. My goodness! I've got more than I know what to -do with, for, after all, I had more money than I wanted before. By and -by I shall be _too_ rich. Mercy! I'm afraid now of being married for -my money." - -Then the hearers, dazzled by this fairy story, wondered whether they -might possibly ask Miss Mordaunt if they could profit by the marvellous -"tip," and pick up a few crumbs from her overflowing table. If Joan had -hawked her wares, no doubt these people would have fought shy; but as -the object was difficult of attainment and must be manoeuvred for, -according to the way of the world they struggled for it with eagerness. -As soon as Joan could decently appear to understand, in her innocence, -what her dear friends were driving at, she was so "good-natured" that -she volunteered to sell them a few of her own shares. The only promise -she exacted in return was that nobody would boast of the favour granted. -The shares which she had bought at a low price--not yet paid--she sold -for three times their face value, sent half the profit to Tommy Mellis -as she got it in, and pocketed her own half. She was thus able to pay -the tradespeople who had trusted her, and to lay in coal for the trips -round the coast which the _Titania_ often took with a few distinguished -passengers. - -The girl could have sung for joy over the success of her adventure. In -the end she would cheat nobody; she would make a decent sum for herself, -and meanwhile she was drinking the intoxicating nectar of excitement. -She was so happy that when she had finished her business, sold all her -shares, and the two months for which the _Titania_ was hired were -drawing to an end she longed to stay on. She was her own mistress, and -could pay her way now--at least, for awhile, until she had another -stroke of luck, which her confidence in herself enabled her to count -upon as certain. She and Lady John were having a "good time," everybody -liked them, and she did not see why this good time should not go on -indefinitely. Besides, she had promised to sell the yacht for its -owner. The two ladies of the _Titania_ had invitations for a month -ahead, and one evening were dressed and waiting for the arrival of an -English bishop, a Roman prince, two American trust magnates, and a -French duchess and her daughter, when the name of Mr. Grierson Mordaunt -was announced. - -Joan's blood rushed to her head, but she stood up smiling. "Leave us -for a minute, dear," she breathed to Lady John, who slipped off to her -cabin unsuspectingly. The girl found herself facing a grizzled, -smooth-shaven man with a prominent chin, a large nose, and deep eyes of -iron grey which matched his hair and faded skin. - -"So you are the young woman who has been trading on a supposed -relationship to me?" remarked Grierson Mordaunt, looking her up and down -from head to foot. - -"We are related--through Adam," replied Joan, whose lips were dry. "As -for 'trading' on the relationship, I'm proud of it, and I don't see why -you should be ashamed of me. I've done nothing to disgrace you." - -"What is your game, that you should have selected my particular branch -of the Adam family?" - -"Because I have one of your family secrets. If you are going to disown -me, there's no reason why I shouldn't give it away." - -"What are you talking about?" - -"Clerios. You aren't ready for the secret of that deal to come out yet, -are you? I saw in the paper the other day that you had denied any -intention of taking the Clerio line into your combine. It was the same -paper that said you had just returned to New York from Florida." - -"You are an adventuress, my young friend." - -"Every seeker of fortune is an adventurer or an adventuress. The crime -is, failure. I'm not a criminal, because I am succeeding, and my success -has enabled me to meet my obligations. If you don't think that I was -justified in claiming relationship with you through so remote an -ancestor in common as Adam, you can make the rest of my stay here very -uncomfortable, I admit; and if you have no fellow-feeling for a -beginner, I suppose you will do it." - -"How long do you intend your stay to be?" inquired Mordaunt grimly, but -with a twinkle in his eye. - -"How long do you want it kept dark about Clerios?" - -"A fortnight." - -"Then I should like very much, if you don't mind, to stop here a -fortnight." - -The great man laughed. "You've the pluck of--the Evil One!" he -ejaculated. "I was in Paris, and read about one of my niece's smart -dinner-parties, so I came on--especially to see you. Now----" - -"Now you are here, won't you stop to one of the dinner-parties? Some -very nice people are coming this evening." - -"And play the part of fond uncle? No, I thank you. But, by Jove! I'm -hanged if I don't go away without unmasking you. You may bless your -pretty face and your smart tongue for that----" - -"And the family secret." - -"That's part of it, but not all. I give you a fortnight's grace. Mind, -not a day more; and respect the character you've stolen meanwhile, or -the promise doesn't stand. This day fortnight you clear out, and Miss -Jenny Mordaunt must never be heard of again." - -"It's a bargain," said Joan. "By some other name I shall be as great." - -"So long as it's not mine. Have you done well with Clerios?" - -"Pretty well, thank you. I was a little hampered for lack of capital. -I might get you a few shares here in Nice, if you like; not cheap, -exactly--still, a good deal lower than they will be a fortnight from -now." - -"Much obliged. You needn't trouble yourself. But I shall keep my eye -on you." - -"I shall consider it a compliment," said Joan, "and try to be worthy of -it." - -"Good-bye." - -"Good-bye." - -When he was gone, Joan sank into a chair and closed her eyes. It would -have been a comfort to faint, but the first guest arrived at that -moment, and she rose to them and to the occasion. The dinner was a -great success, and every one was grieved to hear that the _Titania_ was -due to steam away--for a destination unmentioned--in a fortnight. - - - - -CHAPTER V--The Landlady at Woburn Place - - -Joan had no difficulty in selling _Titania_ for Lady John Bevan, to a -Swiss millionaire, the proprietor of a popular chocolate, who was -disporting himself on the Riviera that winter. The yacht was to be -delivered to him at Corsica, so that when the charming Miss Mordaunt and -her chaperon steamed out of Nice Harbour, none of those who bade them -farewell needed to know that _Titania_ was to be disposed of. If they -found out afterwards, it did not matter much to Joan. After her the -Deluge. - -The girl had grown fond of Lady John Bevan, and could not bear to -exchange her friend's warm affection and gratitude for contempt. -Therefore she made up a pretty little fiction about an unexpected -summons to America, and parted from Lady John, with mutual regret, at -Ajaccio. Joan's one grief in this connexion was that Miss Mordaunt -would scarcely be able to keep her promise to write from New York; but -this grief was only one of the rain-drops in that "deluge" which had to -fall after the vanishing of the American heiress. - -If she had been prudent, Joan might have come out of this adventure with -a small fortune after sending Tommy Mellis his share of the spoil; but -she had been intoxicated with success, and had spent lavishly, as money -came from the sale of the shares. She made a good commission on the -"deal" with the yacht, which she sold for a somewhat larger sum than -Lady John had asked; but where a less generous young person might have -closed the episode with thousands, Joan Carthew had only hundreds. She -had also, however, many smart dresses, some jewellery, and the memory of -an exciting experience. Besides, the money she kept had been got -easily, in addition to the joy of her adventure. - -It had been in the girl's mind, perhaps, that she might, as Miss -Mordaunt, capture a fortune and a title; but in this regard, and this -only, the episode of the _Titania_ had proved a failure. She had had -plenty of proposals, to be sure; but the men who were rich were either -too old, too ugly, or too vulgar to suit the fastidious young woman who -called the world her oyster; and the titles laid at her feet were all -sadly in need of the gilding which a genuine American heiress might have -supplied for the sake of becoming a Russian princess or a French -_duchesse_. - -So Miss Mordaunt disappeared from the brilliant world where she had -glittered like a star; and at about the same time, Miss Joan Carthew -(who had nothing to conceal) appeared at her old quarters in Woburn -Place. She went back there for two reasons; indeed, Joan had bought her -experience of life too dearly to do anything without a reason. The -first was because she wished to lie hid for awhile, spending no -unnecessary money until the twilight of uncertainty should brighten into -the dawn of inspiration and show her the next step on the ladder which -she was determined to mount. The second reason was that the landlady--a -quite exceptional person for a landlady--had been kind, and Joan desired -to reward her. - -If the girl had not gone back to Woburn Place, her whole future might -have been different. But--she did go back, and arrived in the midst of -a crisis. Since Joan had vanished, some months ago, bad luck had come -into the house and finally opened the door for the bailiff. - -Joan found the landlady in tears; but to explain the fulness of the -girl's sympathy, the landlady must be described. - -In the first place, she _was_ a lady; and she was young and pretty, -though a widow. Her husband had been the Honourable Richard -Fitzpatrick, the scapegrace son of a penniless Irish viscount. -"Dishonourable Dick," as he was sometimes nicknamed behind his back, had -gone to California to make his fortune, had naturally failed, but had -succeeded in marrying an exceedingly pretty girl, an orphan, with ten -thousand pounds of her own. He had brought her to England, had spent -most of her money on the race-course, and would have spent the rest, had -it not occurred to him that it would be good sport to do a little -fighting in South Africa. He had volunteered, and soon after died of -enteric. - -Meanwhile, the Honourable Mrs. Fitzpatrick was at a boarding-house in -Woburn Place, where the landlord and landlady were so kind to her that -she gladly lent them several hundred pounds, not knowing yet that she -had only a few other hundreds left out of her little fortune. - -Suddenly the blow fell. Within three days Marian Fitzpatrick learned -that she was a widow, that her dead husband had employed the short -interval of their married life in getting rid of almost everything she -had; and that, her landlord and landlady being bankrupt, she could not -hope for the return of the three-hundred-pound loan she had made them. - -It was finally arranged, as the best thing to be done, that she should -take over the lease of the boarding-house and try to get back what she -had lost, by "running" the establishment herself. - -Mrs. Fitzpatrick had just shouldered this somewhat incongruous burden, -when Joan Carthew had been attracted to the house by the brightness of -the gilt lettering over the door, and the pretty, fresh curtains in the -windows. Joan was nineteen, and Marian Fitzpatrick twenty-three. The -two had been drawn to one another with the first meeting of their eyes. -When, after a few weeks' acquaintance, the girl had been told the young -widow's story, her interest and sympathy were keenly aroused, for Joan's -heart was not hard except to the rich, most of whom she conceived to be -less deserving, if more fortunate, than herself. Now, when she came -back fresh from her triumphant campaign on the _Cote d'Azur_, to hear -that things had gone from bad to worse, all the latent chivalry in her -really generous nature was aroused. - -Joan was tall as a young goddess brought up on the heights of Olympus, -instead of at a French boarding-school. Despite the hardships and -wretchedness of her childhood, she was strong in body and mind and -spirit, with the strength of perfect nerves and a splendid vitality. -Marian Fitzpatrick, broken by disappointment, and worn by months of -anxiety, was fragile and white as a lily which has been bent by savage -storms, and the sight of her small, pale face and big, sad, brown eyes -fired the girl with an almost fierce determination to assume the _role_ -of protector. - -"I've got money," she reflected, in mental defiance of the Fate with -whom she had waged war since childish days, "and I can make more when -this is gone. I suppose I'm a fool, but I don't care a rap. I'm going -to help Marian Fitzpatrick, and perhaps make her fortune, as I mean to -make my own. But just for the present, mine can wait, and hers can't." - -Aloud, she asked Marian what sum would tide her over present -difficulties. Two hundred and fifty pounds, it appeared, were needed. -Joan promptly volunteered to lend, on one condition, but she was cut -short before she had time to name it. - -"Condition or no condition, you dear girl, I can't let you do it," -sobbed Marian. "I'm perfectly sure I could never pay. I'm in a -quicksand and bound to sink. Nobody can pull me out." - -"I can," said Joan; "and in doing it, I'll show you how to pay me. You -just listen to what I have to say, and don't interrupt. When I get an -inspiration, I tell you, it's worth hearing, and I've got one now. What -I want you to do is to give up trying to manage this house. You're too -young and pretty and soft-hearted for a landlady, and you haven't the -talent for it, though you have plenty in other ways, and one is, to be -charming. My inspiration will show you how best to utilise that -talent." - -Then Joan talked on, and at first Marian was shocked and horrified; but -in the end the force of the girl's extraordinary magnetism and -self-confidence subdued her. She ceased to protest. She even laughed, -and a stain of rose colour came back to her cheeks. It would be very -awful and alarming, and perhaps wicked, to do what Joan Carthew -proposed, but it would be tremendously exciting and interesting; and -there was enough youthful love of mischief left in her to enjoy an -adventure with a kind of fearful joy, especially when all the -responsibility was shouldered by another stronger than herself. - -The first thing to do towards the carrying out of the great plan was to -get some one to manage the boarding-house in Mrs. Fitzpatrick's place. -This was difficult, for competent and honest managers, male or female, -were not to be found at registry-offices, like cooks; but Joan was (or -thought she was) equal to this emergency as well as others. She sorted -out from the dismal rag-bag of her early Brighton experiences the memory -of a wonderful woman who had done something to make life tolerable for -her when she was the forlorn drudge of Mrs. Boyle's lodging-house at 12, -Seafoam Terrace. - -This wonderful woman had been one of two sisters who kept a rival -lodging-house in Seafoam Terrace. The Misses Witt owned the place, -consequently it was not improbable that they were still to be found -there, after these seven years; and as they had not always agreed -together, it seemed possible that the younger Miss Witt (the clever and -nice one, who had given occasional cakes and bulls'-eyes to Joan in -those bad old days) might be prevailed upon to accept an independent -position, with a salary, in London. - -Joan had always promised herself that, when she was rich and prosperous, -she would sweep into the house of her bondage like a young princess, and -bestow favours upon little Minnie Boyle, whom she had loved. But Lady -Thorndyke had not wished her adopted daughter even to remember the -sordid past; and after the death of her benefactress, the girl had not -until lately been in a position to undertake the _role_ of fairy -princess. Even now, to be sure, she was not rich, but she swam on the -tide of success, and she had at least the air of dazzling prosperity. -She dressed herself in a way to make Mrs. Boyle grovel, and bought a -first-class ticket, one Friday afternoon, for Brighton. She took her -seat in an empty carriage, and hardly had she opened a magazine when a -man got in. It was George Gallon; and if he had wished to get out again -on recognising his travelling companion, there would not have been time -for him to do so, as at that moment the train began to move out of the -station. - -These two had not seen each other since the eventful morning when Joan -had resigned her position as Mr. Gallon's secretary. She was not sure -whether she were sorry or glad to see him now, but the situation had its -dramatic element. George spoke stiffly, and Joan responded with -malicious cordiality. Knowing nothing of her identity with Grierson -Mordaunt's brilliant niece, long pent-up curiosity forced the man to ask -questions as to where she had been and what she had been doing. - -"I have an interest in a London boarding-house, and am going to Brighton -to try and engage a manageress," Joan deigned to reply, with a twinkle -under her long eyelashes. "I forgot that you would of course have kept -on the old place at Brighton. I suppose you are going down for the -week-end?" - -George admitted grimly that this was the case, and as Joan would give -only tantalising glimpses of her doings in the last few months, and -seemed inclined to put impish questions about the office she had left, -he took refuge in a newspaper. Joan calmly read her magazine, and not -another word was exchanged until the train had actually come to a stop -in the Brighton station. "Oh! by the way," the girl exclaimed then, as -if on a sudden thought. "It was I who got hold of those Clerios I -believe you had an idea of buying in so very cheap. I knew you could -afford to pay well if you wanted them. One gets these little tips, you -know, in an office like yours. That's why I snapped at your two pounds -a week. Good-bye. I hope you'll enjoy the sea air at dear Brighton." - -Before George Gallon could find breath to answer, she was gone, and he -was left to anathematise the hand-luggage which must be given to a -porter. By the time it was disposed of, the impertinent young woman had -disappeared. Yet there is a difference between disappearing and -escaping. Joan's little impulsive stab had made Gallon more her enemy -than ever, and perhaps the day might come when she would have to regret -the small satisfaction of the moment. - -But she had no thought of future perils, and drove in the gayest of -moods to Seafoam Terrace, where she stopped her cab before the door of -No. 12. There, however, she met disappointment. Her first inquiry was -answered by the news that Mrs. Boyle had died of influenza in the -winter, and the house had passed into other hands. The servant could -tell her nothing of Minnie; but the new mistress called down from over -the baluster, where she had been listening to the conversation, that she -believed the little girl had been taken in by the two Misses Witt next -door. - -Death had stolen from Joan a gratification of which she had dreamed for -years. Mrs. Boyle could never now be forced to regret past unkindnesses -to the young princess who had emerged like a splendid butterfly from a -despised chrysalis; but Minnie was left, and Joan had been genuinely -fond of Minnie. She had therefore a double incentive in hurrying to the -house next door. - -The nice Miss Witt herself answered the ring, and Joan had a few words -with her alone. She would be delighted to accept a good position in -London; and it was true that Minnie Boyle was there. She had taken -compassion on the child, who was as penniless and friendless as Joan had -been when last in Seafoam Terrace; but the elder Miss Witt wished to -send the little girl to an orphanage, and the difference of opinion, and -Minnie's presence in the house, led to constant discussion. "The only -trouble is," said the kindly woman, "that if I leave, sister will send -the little creature away." - -"She won't, because I shall take Minnie off her hands," retorted Joan, -with the promptness of a sudden decision. "Do let me see the poor pet." - -Minnie was nine years old, so small that she did not look more than six, -and so pathetically pretty that Joan saw at once how she might be fitted -into the great plan. She could do even more for the child now than she -had expected to do; and because the little one was poor and alone in the -world, as she herself had been, Joan's heart grew more than ever warm to -her playmate of the past. She made friends with Minnie, who had -completely forgotten her, and so bewitched the child with her beauty, -her kindness, and her smart clothes that Minnie was enchanted with the -prospect of going away with such a grand young lady. - -"I used to know some nice fairy stories when I was very, very little," -said the child. "This is like one of them." - -"I told you those fairy stories," returned Joan. "Now I am going to -make them come true." - - - - -CHAPTER VI--The Tenants of Roseneath Park - - -About the first of May, when Cornwall was at its loveliest, everybody -within twenty miles of Toragel (a village famed for its beauty and -antiquity, as artists and tourists know) was delighted to hear that Lord -Trelinnen's place was let at last, and to most desirable tenants. Lord -Trelinnen was elderly, and too poor to live at Roseneath Park, therefore -Toragel had long ceased to be interested in him; but it was intensely -interested in the new people, despite the fact that their advent was the -second excitement which had stirred the fortunate village within the -last year or two. - -The first had been the home-coming of Sir Anthony Pendered, the richest -man in the county, who had volunteered for the Boer war, raised a -regiment, and, when peace was declared, had come back to Torr Court -covered with honours. He was only a knight, and had been given his -title because of a valuable new explosive which he had discovered and -made practicable. He had grown enormously rich through his various -inventions, and, after an adventurous life of some thirty-eight years, -had bought a handsome place near his native village, Toragel. At first -the county had looked at him askance, but the South African affair had -settled all aristocratic doubts in his favour. About a year before the -letting of Roseneath Park he had been enthusiastically received by all -classes, and was still a hero in everybody's eyes; nevertheless, the -first excitement had had time to die down, and the county people and the -"best society" of the village united with more or less hidden eagerness -to know what poor old Lord Trelinnen's tenants would be like. - -The Trelinnen pew in the pretty church of Toragel was next to that where -Sir Anthony Pendered was usually (and his maiden sister always) to be -seen on Sunday mornings. The first Sunday after the new people's -arrival, the church was full; but service began, and still the Trelinnen -pew was empty. After all, the tenants of Roseneath Park (whom nobody had -seen yet) had come only yesterday. Perhaps they would not appear till -next Sunday; but just as the congregation was sadly resigning itself to -this conclusion, there was a slight rustle at the door. The first hymn -was being sung, therefore eyes were able to turn without too much -levity; and it is wonderful how much and how far an eye can see by -turning almost imperceptibly, particularly if it be the eye of a woman. - -Two ladies and a little girl were shown to the Trelinnen pew. Both -ladies were young; the elder could not have been more than twenty-three, -the younger looked scarcely nineteen. Both were in half-mourning; both -were beautiful. They were, in fact, no other than the Honourable Mrs. -Fitzpatrick, and her sisters, Miss Mercy and Mary Milton, these latter -being known in other circles as Joan Carthew and little Minnie Boyle. - -The child, who appeared to be about six years old, was charmingly -dressed, and exemplarily good during the service. As for her elders, -they were almost aggravatingly devout, scarcely raising their eyes from -their prayer-books, and never glancing about at their neighbours, not -even at Sir Anthony Pendered, who looked at the two more than he had -ever been known to look at any other women. This was saying a good -deal, because he was by no means a misanthrope, although he was forty -and had contrived to remain a bachelor. It was rumoured that he wished -to marry, if he could find a wife to suit him, though meanwhile he was -content enough with the society of his sister, who was far from -encouraging any matrimonial aspirations. - -When Marian and Joan and Minnie were driven back to Roseneath Park (in -the perfect victoria and by the splendid horses which advertised the -solid bank balance they did not possess), the two "elder sisters" talked -over their impressions. - -Minnie played with a French doll, that somewhat resembled herself in her -new white frock, with her quantities of yellow hair. Marian, leaning -back on a cushioned sofa, waiting for the luncheon-gong to sound, was -prettier and more distinguished-looking than she had ever been; while -Joan, as Mercy Milton, would scarcely have been recognised by those who -knew her best. Marian's maiden name had really been Milton, and "Mercy" -had been selected to fit the picture for which Joan had chosen to sit. -Her beautiful, gold-brown hair was parted meekly in the middle and -brought down over the ears, finishing with a simple coil in the nape of -her white neck. She was dressed as plainly as a young nun, and had the -air of qualifying for a saint. - -"Well, dear, what did you think of him?" she inquired of Marian. - -"Of whom?" asked Mrs. Fitzpatrick, blushing. - -"Oh, if you are going to be innocent! Well, then, of the distinguished -being whose name and qualifications I showed you in the _Mayfair Budget_ -a few days after I got back to England and you. The _eligible parti_, -in fact, whose residence near Toragel is responsible for our choice of -abode." - -"Joan! _Don't_ put it like that!" - -"'Mercy,' if you please, not Joan. And I've found out exactly what I -wanted to know. Your reception of my brutal frankness has shown me that -you like him. So far, so good." - -"I may like him, but that won't help your plan. Oh, Jo--Mercy, I mean, -I do feel such a wretch! That man looks so honest and frank and nice, -and he could hardly take his eyes off you in church. If he knew what -frauds we are!" - -"You are not a fraud, and it is you with whom he is concerned, or it -will be, as I'll soon show him, if necessary. Your name _is_ -Fitzpatrick; you are a widow; we are sisters--in affection. You haven't -a fib to tell; you've only got to be charming." - -"But it's you he admires. I told you it would be so. If one of us is -to be Lady----" - -"'Sh!" said Joan; and the gong boomed musically for lunch. - -Had it not been for the existence of innocent little Minnie, the county -might not have accepted the lovely sisters as readily as it did. Joan -had thought of that, as she thought of most things; and Minnie, the -_protegee_ of charity, was distinctly an asset. "A very good prop," as -Joan mentally called her, in theatrical slang which she had learned, -perhaps, from her long-vanished mother. - -The presence of Minnie in the feminine household gave a kind of -pathetic, domestic grace, which appealed even to tradespeople; and -tradespeople were extremely important in Joan's calculations. - -She had obtained credentials, upon starting on her new career, in a -characteristic way. Miss Jenny Mordaunt wrote to Lady John Bevan, asking -for a letter of introduction for a great friend of hers, the Honourable -Mrs. Fitzpatrick, to the solicitors who had charge of Lord Trelinnen's -affairs, as Mrs. Fitzpatrick wanted to take Roseneath Park. Jenny -Mordaunt's late chaperon gladly managed this. Mrs. Fitzpatrick called -upon her, and Lady John was charmed. She had known the "Dishonourable -Dick" slightly, years ago, had heard that he had married an heiress, and -marvelled now that he had been tolerated by so sweet a creature as this. -Lady John offered one or two letters of introduction to old friends in -Cornwall, and they were gratefully accepted. As the friends were not -intimate, and as Lady John detested the country, except when hunting or -shooting was in question, there was little danger that she would -inopportunely appear on the scene and recognise the saintly Mercy Milton -as the late Miss Mordaunt. - -Everybody called on the fair, lilylike young widow and her very modest, -retiring, unmarried sister--everybody, that is, with the exception of -Miss Pendered, who pleaded, when her brother urged, that she was too -much of an invalid to call on new people. Soon, however, he boldly went -by himself, excusing his sister with some tale of rheumatism which she -would have indignantly resented. Mrs. Fitzpatrick and Mercy Milton were -surrounded with other visitors when Sir Anthony Pendered was announced, -and he was just in time to hear a glowing account of the orphaned -sisters' "dear old California home," which Joan had learned by heart, -partly from Marian's reminiscences, partly from a book. - -[Illustration: "Mrs. Fitzpatrick and Mercy Milton were surrounded by -other visitors when Sir Anthony Pendered was announced."] - -"When father and mother died, little Minnie and I were the loneliest -creatures you can imagine," the gentle Mercy was saying. "Dear Marian -had just lost her husband, and so she wrote for us to join her. It is so -nice having a home in the country again. We both felt we couldn't be -happy without one, and we chose Cornwall because we thought it the -loveliest county in England. We are very glad we did, now, for everybody -has been _so_ kind." - -She might have added "and the trades-people _so_ trusting"; but on that -subject she was silent, though she intended that they should go on -trusting indefinitely. Indeed, thus far the scheme worked almost too -easily to be interesting. - -Sir Anthony Pendered outstayed the other visitors, and he stopped -unconscionably long for a first call; but that was the fault of his -hostesses, who made themselves so charming that the man lost count of -time--and perhaps lost his head a little, also. At first it seemed that -Marian's impression was right, and that, despite Mercy's retiring ways, -it was the young girl who attracted him. This made Marian secretly sad; -for when she had seen Sir Anthony looking up from his prayer-book in the -adjoining pew, she had said in her heart, with a sigh: "How good he -would be to a woman! How he would pet her and take care of her! To be -his wife would be very different from----" but she had guiltily broken -short that sentence in the midst. - -Persuaded and fired by Joan, she had entered into this adventure. She -had even laughed when Joan selected the neighbourhood of Toragel because -a Society paper announced the advent of a particularly desirable -bachelor. "You will be the prettiest and nicest woman in the county, of -course; therefore, he will fall in love with you and propose. He will -marry you; you will live happy ever after; and you will be able to pay -all the debts that we shall have run up in the process of securing him," -the girl had remarked. But now, when the "desirable bachelor" had -become a living entity, and she felt her heart yearning towards him, -Marian's conscience grew sore. Still, though she told herself that she -could not carry out the plan and try to win Sir Anthony Pendered, it was -a blow to see him prefer Joan. - -The symptoms of his admiration were equally displeasing to the girl. -She was deliberately effacing herself for this episode; while it lasted, -she was to be merely the "power behind the throne." Knowing that she -was more strikingly beautiful and brilliant than Marian Fitzpatrick, she -had studied how to reduce her fascinations, that Marian might outshine -her. Evidently she had not entirely succeeded; but during that first -call of Sir Anthony's, she quickly, surreptitiously changed a -diamond-ring from her right hand to the "engaged" finger of her left, -flourished the newly adorned member under his eyes, and spoke, with a -conscious simper, of "going back some day to California to live." Sir -Anthony did not misunderstand, and as he had not yet tumbled over the -brink of that precipice whence a man falls into love, he readjusted his -inclinations. After all, Mrs. Fitzpatrick was as pretty, he thought, and -certainly more sympathetic. He was glad that Minnie was her sister, and -not her child. Though he had always said he would not care to marry a -widow, this case was different from any that he had imagined, for Mrs. -Fitzpatrick had only been married a year or two when her husband died, -and she had soon awakened from her girlish fancy for the man--so Miss -Milton had guilelessly confided to him. - -Thanks to this, and much further "guilelessness" of the same kind on the -part of the meek maiden, Sir Anthony Pendered discovered, before the -sisters had been for many weeks tenants of Roseneath Park, that he was -deeply in love with Marian Fitzpatrick. Accordingly, he proposed one -June afternoon, amid the ruins of a storied castle overhanging the sea. -Joan had got up a picnic to this place expressly to give him the -opportunity which she felt triumphantly sure he was seeking, and she was -naturally annoyed with Marian when she discovered that the young widow -had asked for "time to think it over." - -"You little idiot! Why didn't you fall into his arms and say -'Yes--yes--_yes_'?" the girl demanded, in Marian's bedroom, when they -had come home towards evening. - -"Because I love him, and because I'm a fraud!" exclaimed Marian. "Oh! -I know what you must think of me. I haven't played straight with you, -either. You've done everything for me. I was to make this match; and -the rent of this place, and our horses and carriages, the payment of all -the tradespeople on whom we've been practically living, depend on my -catching the splendid 'fish' you've landed for me. You've lent me a lot -of money; and what you had left when we came here, you've been -spending----" - -"I've spread it like very thin butter on very thick bread, to make the -hundreds look like thousands. To carry off a big _coup_ like this, one -must have _some_ ready money," broke in Joan, with a queer little smile -at her own cleverness, and the thought of where it would land her if -Marian's "conscientious scruples" refused to be put to sleep. "We -_shall_ be in rather a scrape if you won't marry Sir Anthony--and you're -made for each other, too. But never mind, we shall get out of it -somehow. At worst, we can disappear." - -"And leave everything unpaid, and let him and everybody know we are -adventuresses!" exclaimed Marian, breaking into tears. - -"Don't cry, dear; don't worry; and don't decide anything," said Joan. -"I have an idea." - -She induced Marian to go to bed and nurse the violent headache which the -battle between heart and conscience had brought on. When it was certain -that Mrs. Fitzpatrick would not appear again that evening, she sent a -little note by hand to Sir Anthony, as fortunately Torr Count was the -next estate to Roseneath Park. "Do come over at once. It is very -important that I should see you," wrote the decorous Mercy. - -Sir Anthony Pendered was in the midst of dinner when the communication -arrived, and to his sister's disgust he begged her to excuse him, as it -was necessary to go out immediately on business. - -"That adventuress has sent for you!" Ellen Pendered fiercely exclaimed. -"She has got you completely in her net. I don't believe those three are -sisters. They don't look in the least alike, and it is all very well to -say an ignorant nurse spoiled the child's accent. I have heard her talk -more like a Cockney than a Californian. I tell you there is something -wrong, very wrong, about them all." - -"I advise you not to tell any one else, then," answered Anthony Pendered -furiously--"that is, unless you wish to break off for ever with me. -This afternoon I asked the 'adventuress,' as you dare to call her, to -marry me, and she refused. I had to plead before she would even promise -to think it over." With this he left his sister also to "think it -over," and decide that, between two evils, it might be wise to choose -the less. - -Marian's lover could not guess why Marian's younger sister had sent for -him, and his anxiety increased when he saw the gravity of the girl's -face. - -"Is Mar--is Mrs. Fitzpatrick ill?" he stammered. - -"A little, because she is unhappy; but you can make her well again--if -you choose," replied Joan inscrutably. - -"Of course I choose!" he almost indignantly protested. - -"Wait," said she, "and listen to what I have to say. Poor Marian is the -victim of her own goodness and sweet nature; and because she swore to me -that she would never tell the story of our past, she feels it would be -wrong to marry you. I cannot let her suffer for Minnie and me, so I am -now going to tell you, myself. But on this condition--if you do decide -that you want her for your wife in spite of all, you will never once -mention the subject to Marian. I will inform her that you know the -truth and that she is not to speak of it to you. Is that a bargain?" - -"Yes; but you needn't tell me the story unless you like. I'm sure _she_ -is not to blame for anything," replied the man, who was now thoroughly -in love with Marian, even to the point of wondering what he had ever -seen in Mercy. - -"Certainly it is not she; but as she thinks it is, it amounts to the -same thing. The facts are these: Dear, good Marian took pity on Minnie -and me in a London boarding-house, where we chanced to meet after her -widowhood. She had decided to come here to live, because she longed for -the country, but had not meant to take as grand a house as this, as she -had just found out that her dead husband had spent most of her fortune. -I implored her to bring Minnie and me to her new home, and give me a -good chance of getting into society by introducing us as her sisters. -She was rather a 'swell'--at least, she had married an 'Honourable,' and -we were nobodies. The poor darling finally consented to handicap -herself with us. I had a little money, too, which had--er--come to me -through a lucky investment, and I was so anxious to live at Roseneath -Park that I made Marian (who is most unbusiness-like) believe that -together we would have enough to take the place. I am supposed to be -practical, and so the management of everything has been left to me. I -have paid scarcely anything, except the servants' wages, so you see what -I have brought my poor Marian down to. The only atonement I can make is -to try and save her happiness by confessing my wrongdoing to you and -begging that you will not visit it on her." - -"I certainly will not do that," said Sir Anthony Pendered quickly. "As -you say, her one fault has been a kindness of heart almost amounting to -weakness, which, in my eyes, makes her more lovable than ever. As for -the loss of her money, that matters nothing to me. I have more than I -want, and----" - -"You'll pay everything, without betraying me to Marian? Oh! I don't -deserve it; but _do_ say you will do that, and I will relieve you of my -presence near your _fiancee_ as soon as possible, as a reward. I know -that, after what I have told you, it would be an embarrassment to you to -see me with Marian, because as you are _very_ chivalrous, you could not -let people know I was not really her sister. I will disappear, and -every one can think I have been suddenly called out to my Californian -lover to be married." - -"Doesn't he exist?" questioned Sir Anthony, looking at her "engaged" -finger and thinking of the matrimonial schemes she had just confessed. - -"Not in California. But as I haven't been a success here, I may decide -to be true to the person who gave me this ring." (She had bought it -herself.) "Now that I've promised to go out of Marian's life for ever, -you'll guard her happiness by seeing that everything is straightened -here--financially?" - -"I shall be only too delighted, if you will tell me how to manage it -without my name appearing in the matter." - -"We--ll, if you'd trust the money to me, I'd use it honestly to pay our -debts, and give you all the receipts." - -"So it shall be." - -"You're a--a brick, Sir Anthony. The only difficulty left then is about -poor little Minnie, of whom Marian is really very fond. People might -gossip if Marian let her youngest sister go back to California with me; -for as we are supposed to be so nearly related, surely it would be -better to save a scandal and let--well, let sleeping sisters lie?" - -"If Marian is truly fond of Minnie, there will be plenty of room for the -child at Torr Court, and she will be welcome to stay there, as far as I -am concerned. I must say, Miss--er--Milton, that I think the child will -be better off under our guardianship than in the care of her real -sister." - -"You _are_ good, and I quite agree with you," responded Joan meekly, far -from resenting his look of stern reproach. "When you've trusted me with -that money to pay things, and I hand you the receipts, I'll hand you -also a written undertaking never to trouble you or--Lady Pendered. You -would like me to do that, wouldn't you?" - -"I--er--perhaps something of the kind might be advisable," murmured Sir -Anthony. - -When he had gone, the girl chuckled and clapped her hands. Then she ran -to a looking-glass. "You're not exactly stupid, my dear," she -apostrophised her saintly reflection. "You've provided splendidly for -Marian and you've saved her sensitive conscience. _Her_ slate is clean. -As for Minnie, she will be all right until the time comes, if it ever -does, that you can do better for her. As for yourself--well, you can -leave Marian a couple of hundred for pocket-money, and still get out of -this with something on which to start again. You've finished with Mercy -Milton, thank goodness! and--it _will_ be a relief to do your hair -another way." - -Two days later, Joan Carthew had turned her back upon Toragel, and Mrs. -Fitzpatrick's engagement to Sir Anthony Pendered was announced. - - - - -CHAPTER VII--The Woman Who Knew - - -Joan went straight from Cornwall to London and the Bloomsbury -boarding-house in which some of her curiously earned money was invested. -All was to begin over again now; but to the girl this idea brought -inspiration rather than discouragement, for the world was still her -oyster, if she could open it, and experience had already taught her some -dexterity in the use of the knife. At this house in Woburn Place she -had the right to live without paying, while she "looked round," and Miss -Witt, who owed her present position to Joan, was only too delighted to -welcome her benefactress. - -The place was doing well, and the corner of difficulty had been turned; -this was the news the manager-housekeeper had to give Joan. Every room -but one was full, and so far the boarders seemed to be "good pay," with -perhaps a single exception. - -"There's only the little top floor back that's empty," cheerfully went -on Miss Witt. "Of course, I will take that and give you mine." - -"You'll do nothing of the sort, my dear woman," said Joan. "I like -running up and down stairs. It does me good. Besides, I'd rather be at -the back. There's a tree, or something that once tried hard to be a -tree, to look at, as I know well, for the room used to be mine; so -there's no use talking any more about that matter--it's settled. You -stay where you are, and I will rise, like cream, to the top. Now tell -me about this doubtful person you are afraid won't pay. Is it a man or -a woman?" - -"A woman," replied Miss Witt, "and one of the strangest beings I ever -saw. It is a great comfort to me that you are here, miss, for you can -decide what is to be done about her. She hasn't paid her board for a -fortnight, but she keeps pleading that as soon as she is well, and can -go out, she will get remittances which have been delayed." - -"Oh, she is ill, then?" - -"So she says. But I'm not sure, miss, it isn't just an excuse to work -upon my compassion, for why should she have to go out for remittances? -She stops in her room, lying upon a sofa, and makes a deal of bother -with her meals being carried up so many pairs of stairs, though it's -hardly worth while her having them at all, she eats so little. Yet she -doesn't look a bit different from what she did when she was supposed to -be well and going about as much like anybody else as one of her sort -could _ever_ do." - -"What do you mean?" asked Joan, whose curiosity was fired. - -"Only that she is, and was, more a ghost than a human being, with her -great, hollow, black eyes, like burning coals, set deep under her thick -eyebrows and overhanging forehead; with her thin cheeks--why, miss, they -almost meet in the middle--her yellow-white skin, her tall, gliding -figure and stealthy way of walking, so that you never hear a sound till -she's at your back." - -"Queer kind of boarder," commented Joan. - -"That she is, miss; and when she applied for a room, I would have said -we were full up, but in those days we had several of our best rooms -empty, and, strange as she was, her clothes were so good, and the -luggage on the four-wheeler waiting outside was so promising, as you -might say, that it did seem a pity to send away two guineas a week -because Providence had given it a scarecrow face. So I showed her the -best back room on the top floor----" - -"Next to mine," cut in Joan. - -"If you will have it so, miss; and there she's been for the last six -weeks, not having paid a penny since the end of the first month." - -"What is the ghost's name and age?" the girl went on with her catechism. - -"Her name, if one was to take her word, which I'm far from being certain -of, is Mrs. Gone; and as for her age, miss, she might be almost anywhere -between fifty and a hundred." - -"What a clever old lady!" laughed the girl. "Well, we can't turn the -poor wretch away while she's ill, if she is ill, can we? I know too -well what it is to be alone in the world and down on your luck, to be -hard on anybody else, especially a woman. We must give Mrs. Gone the -benefit of the doubt for a little while. But your description has quite -interested me; I should like to see this ghost who doesn't walk." - -"The house is the same as yours, miss," said Miss Witt. "You have the -right to go into her room at any time, more particularly as she hasn't -paid for it." - -"Perhaps I'll carry up her dinner this evening, by way of an excuse," -returned Joan--"if you think she could bear the shock of seeing a -strange face." - -Upon this, Miss Witt, who adored the girl, protested that, in her -opinion, the sight of such a face could only be a pleasure to any person -and in any circumstances. Joan laughed at the compliment, but she did -not forget her intention. Mrs. Gone's meals were usually taken up a few -minutes before the gong summoned the guests to the dining-room, because -it was easier to spare a servant then than later, and it was just after -the dressing-bell had rung that the girl knocked at the "ghost's" door. - -Joan was surprised to find her heart quickening its beats as she waited -for a bidding to "Come in!" One would think that a sight of this old -woman who would not pay her board was an exciting event! She smiled at -herself, but the smile faded as she threw open the door in answer to a -faint murmur on the other side. Miss Witt's sketch of Mrs. Gone had not -been an exaggeration. - -There she lay on a sofa by the window, her face gleaming white in the -twilight; and it was a wonderful face. A shiver went creeping up and -down Joan's spine, as a flame leaped out from the shadowy hollows of two -sunken eyes to hers. - -"This woman has been some one in particular--some one extraordinary," -the girl thought quickly; and as politely as if she had addressed a -duchess, she explained her intrusion. "The servants were busy, and I -offered to carry up your dinner," Joan said. "I arrived only to-day; -and as Miss Witt looks upon me as a sort of proprietor, she told me how -ill you have been. I hope you are better." - -The old woman with the strange face looked steadily at the beautiful -girl in the pretty, simple, evening frock which was to grace the -boarding-house dinner. "Did Miss Witt tell you nothing else?" she -asked, in a voice which would have made the fortune of a tragic actress -in the death scene of some aged queen. - -"She told me that she was afraid you were in trouble," promptly answered -Joan, who had her own way of dressing the truth. By this time the girl -had entered the room, set the tray on a table near the sofa, and taking -a rose from her bodice, laid it on the pile of plates. This she did on -the impulse of the moment, not with a preconceived idea of effect, and -she was rewarded by a slight softening of the tense muscles round the -once handsome mouth. - -"I hope you like roses?" she asked. - -"Yes," Mrs. Gone answered brusquely. "Why do you give it to me?" - -"Because I'm sorry you are ill, and perhaps lonely," said Joan, able for -once to account for an action without a single mental reserve. "I have -had a good deal of worry in my life, and can sympathise with others, as -I told Miss Witt when she spoke of you. One reason why I came was to say -that you needn't distress yourself about your indebtedness to this -house. Try to get well, and pay at your convenience. You shall not be -pressed." - -Joan had not meant to say all this when she arranged to have a sight of -Mrs. Gone. She had merely wished to satisfy her curiosity; but now she -felt impelled to utter these words of encouragement--why, she did not -know, for she had not conceived any sudden fancy for the sinister old -woman. On the contrary, the white face, with its burning eyes and -secretive mouth, inspired her with something like fear. A woman with -such a face could not have many sweet, redeeming graces of character or -heart. There was, to supersensitive nerves, an atmosphere of evil as -well as mystery about her; but though Joan felt this, it gave a keener -edge to her interest. - -"Thank you," said Mrs. Gone. "You are kind, as well as pretty. I do -not like young people usually, but I might learn to like you. I hope -you will come again." - -The words were a dismissal and a compliment. Joan accepted them as both. -She promised to repeat her visit, and after lighting the shaded lamp on -the table, left Mrs. Gone to eat her dinner. - -The girl would have given much to lift the veil of mystery wrapped about -this woman's past and personality. She even boasted to herself that she -would find some way, sooner or later, at least to peep under its edge; -but day after day passed, and though she went often to Mrs. Gone's room, -and was always thanked for her kind attentions, she seemed no nearer to -attaining her object than at first. Beyond occupying a room which she -did not pay for, Mrs. Gone was not an expensive guest. She ate almost -nothing; and when Joan had been in Woburn Place for a week, the white -face with its burning eyes had become so drawn with suffering that in -real compassion the girl offered to call a doctor at her own expense. -But Mrs. Gone would not consent. "I hate doctors," she said. "No one -could tell me more about myself than I know." - -The girl's own affairs were absorbing enough, for she saw no new opening -yet for her ambition; still, she found time to think a great deal about -Mrs. Gone. "Am I a soft-hearted idiot, allowing myself to be imposed -upon by a professional 'sponge'?" she wondered; "or is there something -in my odd feeling that I shall be rewarded for all I do for this -extraordinary woman?" - -Such questions were passing through her mind one night when she had gone -to bed late, after being out at the theatre. She had been in Woburn -Place eight days, and was growing impatient, for none of the boarders -were of the kind to be used as "stepping-stones," and none of the -Society and financial papers, which she studied, afforded any hopeful -suggestion for another phase of her career. To be sure, the young man -with whom she had consented to go to the theatre was employed as a -reporter for a great London daily, and she had been "nice" to him, with -the vague idea that she might somehow be able to profit by his -infatuation; but at present she did not see her way, and it appeared -that she was wasting sweetness on the desert air. - -"I suppose," Joan said to herself, turning over her hot pillow, "that if -I were an ordinary girl, I might be contented to go on as I am. I can -live here for nothing, and get enough interest on the money I've put -into this concern to buy clothes and pay my way about, with strict -economy. All the men in the house are in love with me; and if they were -more interesting, that might be amusing. But I'm not born to be -contented with small people or things. I don't want clothes. I want -creations. I don't want the admiration of young men from the City. I -want to be appreciated by princes. I believe I must have been a -princess in another state of existence, for I always feel that the best -of everything is hardly good enough for me." - -As she thought this, half laughing, there came a sound from the next -room--that room which might have been the grave of the strange woman who -occupied it, so dead was the silence which reigned there day and night. -Never before had Joan heard the least noise on the other side of the -dividing wall, but now she was startled by a crash as of breaking glass, -followed by the dull, soft thud which could only have been made by the -fall of a human body. Joan sat up, her heart thumping, and it gave a -frightened bound as a groan came brokenly to her ears. - -She waited no longer, but slipped her bare feet into a pair of satin -_mules_, flung on her dressing-gown, and in another moment was out of -her room and in the dark passage, fumbling for the handle of the other -door. - -Mrs. Gone kept her door unlocked in the daytime, perhaps to save herself -the trouble of rising to admit servants, or her only visitor, Joan -Carthew; but the girl feared that it might not be so at night, and that -before she could penetrate the mystery of the fall and the groan, the -whole house would have to be disturbed. She was relieved, therefore, to -find that the door yielded to her touch. Pushing it open, she listened -for an instant, but only the dead silence throbbed in her ears. - -As she got into her dressing-gown, with characteristic presence of mind -Joan had caught up a box of matches and put it into her pocket. The -room was as dark as the passage outside, and the girl struck a match -before crossing the threshold. The little flame leaped and brightened. -Something on the floor glimmered white in the darkness, and Joan did not -need to bend down to know what it was. - -The gas was close to the door, and she lighted it with the dying match, -which burnt her fingers. Then she saw clearly what had happened. In -tottering uncertainly across the floor, Mrs. Gone had knocked over a -small table holding a china candlestick, a water-bottle, and a goblet. -She had fallen, and after uttering that one groan which had crept to -Joan's ears, she had lost consciousness. - -The girl's quick eyes sought for an explanation of the catastrophe. The -long, white figure lay at some distance from the bed, and near the -mantel. On the mantel stood a curiously shaped, dark green bottle, -which Joan had once been requested to give to Mrs. Gone. She had seen a -few drops of some colourless liquid poured into a wineglass of water; -and when it had been swallowed, the ghastly pallor of the face had -changed to a more natural tint. Mrs. Gone had then said that she took -the medicine when very ill. If she used it oftener, its effect would -disappear, and she would have nothing left to turn to at the worst. - -"It was that bottle she was trying to find in the dark," Joan guessed. -"She must have been too ill to try and light the gas. Now, how much was -it that I saw her pour out? It might have been ten drops--no more." - -So thinking, the girl filled a glass on the wash-handstand a third full -of water, measured ten drops of the medicine with a steady hand, and -raising Mrs. Gone's head, put the tumbler to her lips. The strong teeth -seemed clenched, but some of the liquid must have passed their barrier, -for the dark eyes opened wide and looked up into Joan's face. - -"Too late----" the woman panted, with a gurgling in the throat which -choked her words. "Dying--now. Wish that--you--you have been -kind--only one in the world. My secret--you might have--Lord Northmuir -would have given----" - -The voice trailed away into silence. The gurgle died into a rattle; the -woman's breast heaved and was still. Her eyes had not closed, but -though they stared into Joan's, the spark of life behind their windows -had gone out. Mrs. Gone was dead, and had taken her secret with her -into the unknown. - -Joan had never seen death before, but there was no mistaking it. Her -first impulse was to run downstairs, call Miss Witt and a young doctor -who had his office and bedroom on the dining-room floor. Nevertheless, -when she had laid the heavy head gently down and sprung to her feet, she -remained standing. - -For some minutes she stood motionless, almost rigid, her lips pressed -together, her eyes hard and bright. Then she struck one hand lightly -upon the other, exclaiming half aloud: "I'll do it!" - -It seemed certain by this time that no one had heard the crash of glass -and the fall which had alarmed her, for the house was still. -Nevertheless, Joan tiptoed to the door and bolted it. When she had done -this, she opened all the drawers of the dressing-table and searched them -carefully for papers. Discovering none, she left everything exactly as -she had found it. Next she examined the pockets of the three or four -dresses hanging in the wardrobe, but they were limp and empty. There -were still left the leather portmanteau and handbag which had appealed -to Miss Witt's respectful admiration. Both were locked, but Joan's -instinct led her to look under the pillows on the bed, and there lay a -key-ring. She was able to open portmanteau and bag, but not a paper of -any kind was to be seen, and the girl recalled a remark of Miss Witt's, -that never since Mrs. Gone had become a boarder in Woburn Place had she -been known to receive or send a letter. - -Having assured herself that no information was to be gained among the -dead woman's possessions, Joan unlocked the door and went softly -downstairs to rouse Miss Witt. She justified what she had done by reason -of Mrs. Gone's last words, for she believed that the dead woman would -have made her a present of the secret if she could. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII--Lord Northmuir's Young Relative - - -Awakened and informed of what had happened, the housekeeper called the -doctor, who looked at the body and certified that death had resulted -from failure of the heart, which must have been long diseased. Joan paid -for a good oak coffin and a decent funeral. She bought a grave at -Kensal Green and ordered a neat stone to be erected. If she had -previously earned Mrs. Gone's gratitude, she felt that she had now -merited any reward which might accrue in future, and the curious, -erasible tablet that did duty as her conscience was wiped clear. - -The morning after Mrs. Gone's funeral, the girl put on her favourite -frock of grey cloth, with a hat to match, which had been bought at one -of the most fashionable shops in Monte Carlo. This costume, with grey -gloves, grey shoes, and a grey chiffon parasol, ivory-handled, gave Joan -an air of quiet smartness, a combination particularly appropriate for -the adventure which she had planned. She hired a decorous brougham and -said to the coachman: "Drive to Northmuir House, Belgrave Square." - -It was but ten o'clock, and, as Joan had gleaned some information -concerning the habits of the occupant, she was confident that he would -be at home. Mrs. Gone had not been dead two hours when the girl began -searching through her own scrapbook, compiled of cuttings taken from -Society papers. Whenever she came across the description of any -important member of the aristocracy--his or her home life, manners, -fancies, and ways--she cut it out and pasted it into this book, in case -it should become valuable for reference. The moment that the dying -woman uttered the name of Northmuir, Joan's memory jumped to a paragraph -(one of the first that had gone into the scrapbook), and as soon as she -could shut herself up in the little back room, she had consulted her -authority. - -The Earl of Northmuir was, according to the paper from which the cutting -had been clipped, still the handsomest man in England, though now long -past middle age. Once he had been among the most popular also, but for -some years he had lived more or less in retirement, owing to illness and -family bereavements, seldom leaving his fine old town house in Belgrave -Square. - -"He'll be in London, and he won't be the sort of man to go out before -noon," Joan said to herself. - -Her heart was beating more quickly than usual, but her face was calm and -untroubled, as she stood on the great porch at Northmuir House, asking a -footman in sober livery if Lord Northmuir were at home. - -The girl in the grey dress and grey hat, with large, soft ostrich -feathers, might have been a young princess. Whatever she was, she -merited civility, and the servant, who could not wholly conceal -surprise, politely invited her to enter, while he inquired if his -Lordship could receive a visitor. "What name shall I say?" he asked. - -"Give him this, please," said Joan, handing the footman an envelope, -addressed to "The Earl of Northmuir." Inside this envelope was a sheet -of paper, blank, save for the words, "A messenger from Mrs. Gone, who is -dead"; and the death notice was enclosed. - -With this envelope the man went away, leaving her to wait in a large and -splendid drawing-room, where stiffness of arrangement betrayed the -absence of a woman's taste. - -Joan looked about appreciatively, yet critically. Then, when she had -gained an impressionist picture of the room, she glanced at the jewelled -watch on her wrist, a present from Lady John Bevan after the sale of the -_Titania_. - -What if Lord Northmuir had never known the dead woman under the name of -Gone? What if--there were many things which might go wrong, and Joan had -put her whole stake on a single chance. If she had been mistaken--but -as her mind played among surmises, the footman returned. - -"His Lordship will see you in his study, if you will kindly come this -way," the servant announced. - -Joan rose with quiet dignity and followed the man along a pillared hall -to a closed door. "The lady, my lord," murmured the footman, in opening -it. Joan was left alone with a singularly handsome old man, who sat in -a huge cushioned chair by the fireplace. It was summer still, but a -fire of ship-logs sparkled with changing rainbow lights on the stone -hearth. In a thin hand, Lord Northmuir held an exquisitely bound book. -He must have been more than sixty, but his features were of the -cameo--fine, classic cut, of which the beauty, like that of old marble, -never dies, and it was easy to see why he had once borne a reputation as -the handsomest man in England. It was easy to see also, by his eyes as -they catalogued each item of Joan's beauty, that he had been a gallant -man, not blind to the charms of women. Nevertheless, his voice was cold -as he spoke to the unexpected visitor. - -"I haven't the pleasure of knowing your name, or why you have honoured -me by calling," he said. "Forgive my not rising. I am rather an -invalid. Pray sit down. There is something I can do for you?" - -"Several things, Lord Northmuir," returned the girl, taking the chair -his gesture had indicated. - -"You will tell me what they are?" - -"I am anxious to tell you. In the first place, I wish to be a relation -of yours, and not a poor relation. I wish to have a thousand pounds a -year, either permanently or until my marriage, should I become the wife -of a rich man through your introduction." - -Lord Northmuir stared at the girl, and if there were not genuine -astonishment in his eyes, he was a clever actor. "You are a handsome -young woman," he said slowly, when she had finished, "but I begin to be -afraid that your mind is unfortunately--er--affected." - -"There is a weight upon it," Joan replied.--"the weight of your secret. -It's so heavy that unless you are very kind, I shall be tempted to throw -the burden off by laying it upon others." - -Now the blood hummed in her ears. If she had built a house of cards, -this was the moment when it would topple, and bury her ambition in its -ignominious downfall. But Lord Northmuir's slow speech had quickened her -hope, for she said to herself that it was not spontaneous; and gazing -keenly into his face, she saw the blood stain his forehead. She had -staked on the right chance, yet the risk was not past. Her game was the -game of bluff, but its success depended upon the man with whom she had -to deal. - -"I do not understand what you are talking about," he said. - -"I dare say I haven't made my meaning clear," answered Joan, half -rising. "Perhaps I'd better explain to my solicitor, and get him to -write a letter----" - -"You are nothing more nor less than a common blackmailer," Lord -Northmuir exclaimed, bringing down his white hand on the arm of his -chair. - -"I may be nothing less, but I am a good deal more than a common one," -retorted Joan, surer of her ground. "I will prove that, if you force me -to do it." - -"Who are you?" he broke out abruptly. - -"I am a Woman Who Knows," she replied. "There was another Woman Who -Knew. She called herself Gone. She is dead, and I have come. I have -come to stay." - -"Don't you understand that I can hand you over to the police?" demanded -Lord Northmuir, with difficulty controlling his voice so that it could -not be heard by possible listeners outside the door. - -"Yes; and I understand that I can hand your secret over to the police. -They would know how to use it." - -He flushed again, and Joan saw that her daring shot had told. For the -instant he had no answer ready, and she seized the opportunity to speak -once more. "You can do better for yourself than hand me over to the -police. There need be no trouble, if you will realise that I am not a -common person, and not to be treated as such." - -"Again I ask: Who are you?" he cried. - -Joan risked another shot in the dark. "Can't you make a guess?" she -asked, with a malicious suggestion of hidden meaning in her tone. - -An expression of horror and surprise passed over Lord Northmuir's -handsome face, devastating it as a marching tornado devastates a -landscape. It was evident that he had "made a guess," and been -thunderstruck by its answer. Joan's curiosity was so strongly roused -that it touched physical pain. Almost, she would have been ready to -give one of her pretty fingers to know the secret. - -"Do you still wish to ask questions?" she inquired. - -"Heaven help me, no! What is it that you want?" - -"I have told you already. If I insisted on all I have a right to claim, -you would not be where you are." - -She watched him. He grew deathly and bowed his white head. Joan felt -sorry for the man now that he was at her mercy; but her imagination -played with the secret, as a child plays with a prism in the sunshine. -Its flashing colours allured her. "Oh! if I only _knew_ something," she -thought, "something which would hold in law, and could go through the -courts, where might I not stand? I might reach one of the highest -places a woman can fill. But it's no use; I must take what I can get, -and be thankful; and, anyway, I can't help pitying him a little, though -I'm sure he doesn't deserve it. He's old and tired, and I won't make him -suffer more than is necessary for the game." - -Joan again named her terms, this time with much ornamental detail. She -was to be a newly discovered orphan cousin. Her name was to be, as it -had been in Cornwall, Mercy Milton. She was to be invited to visit, for -an indefinite length of time, at Northmuir House. Her noble relative -was to exert himself to the extent of giving entertainments to introduce -her to his most influential and highly placed friends. He was also to -make her an allowance of a thousand pounds a year. - -"Don't think, if you gamble away as--as the other did, that I will go -beyond this bargain, for I will not!" cried Lord Northmuir, with a testy -desire to assert himself and show that he was not wholly to be cowed. - -"I don't gamble, except with Fate," said Joan. - -This exclamation of his explained one or two things which had been dark. -She guessed now why Mrs. Gone, evidently used to luxuries, had been -reduced to living on the charity of a boarding-house keeper, and why it -had been necessary to wait until she should be well enough to go out -before she could obtain "remittances." - -Having concluded her arrangement with Lord Northmuir, and settled to -become his relative and guest, Joan went back in her brougham to Woburn -Place. She told Miss Witt that she had been called away, packed her -things, left such as she would not want in Belgrave Square in boxes at -the boarding-house, delighted the housekeeper with many gifts, and the -following morning drove off with a pile of luggage on a cab. Turning -the corner of Woburn Place into the next street, she also turned a -corner in her career, and for the third time ceased to be Joan Carthew. - -She had chosen to take up her lately laid down part of Mercy Milton for -two reasons. One was, that in this character as she had played it in -Cornwall, with meekly parted hair, soft, downcast eyes, simple manners -and simple frocks, she was not likely to be recognised by any one who -had known the dashing and magnificent Miss Jenny Mordaunt; while if she -should come across Cornish acquaintances, there was nothing in her new -position which need invalidate the story of Lady Pendered's gentle -sister. - -If Lord Northmuir had looked forward with dread to the intrusion of the -adventuress whom he was forced to receive, he soon found that, beyond -the galling knowledge of his bondage, he had nothing disagreeable to -fear. The young cousin did not attempt to interfere with his habits -after he had provided her with acquaintances, who increased after the -manner of a "snowball" stamp competition. The two usually lunched and -dined together, and--at first--that was all. But Miss Mercy Milton made -herself charming at table, never referred by word or look to the loathed -secret, and was so tactful that, to his extreme surprise, almost horror, -the man found himself looking forward to the hours of meeting. Joan was -not slow to see this; indeed, she had been working up to it. When the -right time came, she volunteered to help Lord Northmuir with his letters -(he had no secretary) and to read aloud. At the end of six months she -had become indispensable, and he would have wondered how existence had -been possible without his treasure had he dwelt upon the dangerous -subject at all. If, however, the blackmailer's instalment in the -household had turned out an agreeable disappointment to the blackmailed, -it was a disappointment of another kind to the author of the plot. Joan -Carthew did not find life in Belgrave Square half as amusing as she had -pictured it, and though she was surrounded by luxury which might be hers -as long as Lord Northmuir lived, each day she grew more restless and -discontented. - -She had found society on the Riviera delightful, but the butterfly crowd -which fluttered between Nice and Monte Carlo had little resemblance to -that with which she came in contact as Lord Northmuir's cousin. Jenny -Mordaunt could do much as she pleased--at worst she was put down as a -"mad American, my dear"; but Mercy Milton had the family dignity to live -up to. Lord Northmuir's adopted relative could not afford to be "cut" by -the primmest dowager; and being an ideal, conventional English girl in -the best society did not suit Joan's roaming fancies. - -It was supposed that she would be Lord Northmuir's heiress; consequently -mothers of eligible young men were charming to her, which would have -been convenient if Joan had happened to want one of their sons. But not -one of the men who sent her flowers and begged for "extras" at dances -would she have married if he had been the last existing specimen of his -sex. This was annoying, for in planning her campaign, Joan had resolved -to marry well and settle satisfactorily for life. Now, however, she -found that it was simpler to decide upon a mercenary marriage in the -abstract than when it became a personal question. - -At the close of a year with Lord Northmuir she had saved seven hundred -pounds, and at last, after a sleepless night, she made up her mind to -take a step which was, in a way, a confession of failure. - -She went to Lord Northmuir's study as usual in the morning, but this -time it was not to act as reader or amanuensis. - -"It's a year to-day since I came," she said abruptly, with a purposeful -look on her face which the man felt was ominous. - -"Yes," he answered. "A strange year, but not an unhappy one. What I -regarded as a curse has turned out a blessing. I should miss the -albatross now if it were to be taken off my neck." - -"I'm sorry for that," said Joan, "for the albatross has revived and -intends to fly away." - -"What! You will marry?" - -"No. I'm tired of being conventional. I've decided to relieve you of my -presence here; and you can forget me, except when, each quarter, you -sign a cheque for two hundred and fifty pounds." - -Lord Northmuir's handsome face grew almost as white as when she had -first announced her claim upon him. "I don't want to forget you. I -can't forget you!" he stammered. "If I could, I would publish the whole -truth; but that is impossible, for the honour of the name. You have -made me fond of you--made me depend upon you. Why did you do that, if -you meant to leave me alone?" - -"I didn't mean it at first," replied Joan frankly. "I thought I should -be 'in clover' here, and so I have been; but too much clover upsets the -digestion. I must go, Lord Northmuir. I can't stand it any longer. -I'm pining for adventures." - -"Have you fallen in love?" - -"No. I wish I had. I've been trying in vain." - -"A year ago I would not have believed it possible that I should make you -such an offer, but you have wrought a miracle. You came to blackmail, -you remained to bless. Stay with me, my girl, till I die, and not only -shall you be remembered in my will, but I will increase your allowance -from one thousand to two thousand a year. I can afford to do this, -since you have become the one luxury I can't live without." - -"I was just beginning to say that, if you would let me go without a -fuss, I would take five hundred instead of a thousand a year." - -"But now I have shown you my heart, you see that offer does not appeal -to me." - -Joan broke out laughing; this upsetting of the whole situation was so -humorous. A sudden reckless impulse seized her. She could not resist -it. - -"Lord Northmuir, you will change your mind when I have told you -something," she said. "I have played a trick on you. I have no -connection with your family, and know no more about your secret than I -know what will be in to-morrow's papers. Mrs. Gone, in dying, mentioned -a secret and your name. I put two and two together, and they matched so -well that I've lived on you for a year, bought lots of dresses, made -crowds of friends, had heaps of proposals, and kept seven hundred pounds -in hand. Now I think you will be willing to let me go; and you can lie -easy and live happy for ever after." - -Having launched the thunderbolt, she would have left the room, but Lord -Northmuir, old and invalided as he was, sprang from his chair like an -ardent youth and caught her arm. - -"By Jove! you shan't leave me like that!" he cried. "You have made your -first mistake, my dear. Instead of being in your power, you have put -yourself in mine. I need fear you no longer. But as a trickster I love -you no less than I did as a blackmailer. Indeed, I love you the more -for your diabolical cleverness, you beautiful wretch! Stay with me, not -as the little adopted cousin, living on charity, but as my wife, and -mistress of this house. Or, if you will not, I shall denounce you to -the police." - -For once, Joan was dumfounded. The tables had been turned upon her with -a vengeance. She gasped, and could not answer. - -"You see, it is my turn to dictate terms now," said Lord Northmuir. - -Joan's breath had come back. "You are right," she returned, in a meek -voice. "I have given you the reins. But--well, it would be something -to be Countess of Northmuir." - -"Don't hope to be a widowed Countess," chuckled the old man. "I am only -sixty-nine, and for the last ten years I have taken good care of -myself." - -"I count on nothing after this," said Joan. - -"You consent, then?" - -"How can I do otherwise?" - -Lord Northmuir laughed out in his triumph over her. "The notice of the -engagement will go to the _Morning Post_ immediately," he said. -"To-morrow, some of our friends will be surprised." - -But it was he who was surprised; for, when to-morrow came, Joan had run -away. - - - - -CHAPTER IX--A Journalistic Mission - - -It is like stating that the world is round to say that London is the -best of hiding-places. It is the best, because there are many Londons, -and one London knows practically nothing about any of the other Londons. -When, therefore, Mercy Milton disappeared from Northmuir House, Belgrave -Square, Joan Carthew promptly appeared at her old camping-ground, the -boarding-house in Woburn Place. - -Joan was no longer penniless, and as far as Lord Northmuir was -concerned, she was easy in her mind. A man of his stamp was unlikely to -risk the much-prized "honour of his name" to seek her with detectives; -while, unassisted, he would have to shrug his weary old shoulders and -resign himself to loss and loneliness. - -But ambition kindled restlessness. She grudged wasting a moment when -her fortune had to be made, her permanent place in life fixed. Besides, -she was dissatisfied with her adventure in the house of Lord Northmuir. -She had not come off badly, yet it galled her to remember that in -self-defence she had been driven to confess her scheme to its victim, -and that--this expedient not proving efficacious--she had eventually -been forced to run away like the coward she was not. On the whole, she -had to admit that if Lord Northmuir had not in the end got the better of -her, he had come near to doing so. The sharp taste of failure was in -her mouth, and the only way to be rid of it was to get the better of -somebody else--somebody disagreeable, so that the sweets of success -might be unmixed with bitterness. - -Existence as Lord Northmuir's adopted relative had been deadly dull; -existence as his wife would have been worse; and the remembrance of -boredom was too vivid still for Joan to regret what she had sacrificed. -Nevertheless, she realised that it had been a sacrifice which she would -not a little while ago have believed herself fool enough, or wise -enough, to be capable of making. She wanted her reward, and that reward -must mean new excitements, difficulties, and dangers. - -"I should like to do something big on a great London paper," she said to -herself on the first night of her return to Woburn Place. "What fun to -undertake a thrilling journalistic mission, and succeed better than any -man! I wonder whether Mr. Mainbridge, who was a reporter on _The -Planet_, is here still. He wasn't at dinner, but then he used often to -be away. I must ask in the morning." - -Joan went to sleep with this resolve in her mind, and before breakfast -she had carried it out. Mr. Mainbridge was still one of Miss Witt's -boarders, and had often inquired after Miss Carthew. He had come in -late last night, was now asleep, but would be down to luncheon, and -there was no doubt that he would be delighted to see the object of his -solicitude. - -All turned out as Miss Witt prophesied, and Joan was even nicer to the -reporter than she had been before. He invited her to dine that evening -at an Italian restaurant, and she consented. When they had come to the -sweets, Mr. Mainbridge could control his pent-up feelings no longer, and -was about to propose when Joan stopped him. - -"We are too poor to indulge in the luxury of being in love," said she, -with a sweet frankness which took the sting from the rebuff and dimly -implied hope for the future. "I shall not marry until I am earning as -much money as--as the man I love. I could not be happy unless I were -independent. Oh, Mr. Mainbridge! if you do care to please me, prove it -by introducing me to the editor of your paper! I want to ask him for -work." - -The stricken young man felt his throat suddenly dry. In his first -acquaintance with Joan he had boasted of his "influence" with the powers -that were upon that new and phenomenally successful daily, _The Planet_. -As a matter of fact, the influence existed in Mainbridge's dreams, and -there only. Sir Edmund Foster, the proprietor and editor, hardly knew -him by sight, and probably would not recognise him out of Fleet Street. -To ask such a favour as an introduction for a strange young girl, -however attractive, was almost as much as the poor fellow's place was -worth, but he could not bear to refuse Joan. - -"Tell Sir Edmund that I have information, important to the paper, for -his private ear," added the girl, reading her admirer's mind as if it -had been a book. - -"But--but if--er--you haven't really anything which he----" stammered -Mainbridge. - -"Oh, I have! I guarantee he shall be satisfied with me and not angry -with you. Only I must see him alone. Tell him I come from"--Joan -hesitated for an instant, but only for an instant--"from the Earl of -Northmuir." - -Mainbridge was impressed by the name and her air of self-confidence. -Encouraged, he promised to use every effort to bring about the -introduction, if possible the very next day. If he succeeded, he would -telegraph Joan the time of the appointment, which would certainly not be -earlier than three in the afternoon, as Sir Edmund never appeared at the -office until that hour. - -"Then I won't stop for the telegram and give him a chance to change his -mind before I can drive from Woburn Place to Fleet Street," said Joan. -"I will be at the office at three in the afternoon, and wait until -something is settled, if I have to wait till three in the morning." - -The next day, after luncheon, Joan chose her costume with extreme care, -as she invariably did when it was necessary to arm herself for conquest. -Radiant in pale blue cloth edged with sable, she presented herself at -the offices of _The Planet_. There was a waiting-room at the end of a -long corridor, and there she was bidden to sit; but instead of remaining -behind a closed door, as soon as her guide was out of sight she began -walking up and down near the stairway where Sir Edmund Foster must -sooner or later pass. She had never seen the famous man, but she -remembered his photograph in one of the illustrated papers. - -Presently a tall, smooth-shaven, sallow man, with eagle features and -bags under his keen eyes, came rapidly along the corridor, accompanied -by a much younger, less impressive man, who might have been a secretary. -Joan advanced, pretending to be absorbed in thought, then stood aside -with a start of shy surprise and a look nicely calculated to express -reverence of greatness. Sir Edmund Foster glanced at the apparition and -let his eyes linger for a few seconds as his companion rang the bell of -the lift, close to the wide stone stairway. - -"When he hears that there is a young woman waiting to see him, he will -remember me, and the recollection may influence his decision," thought -Joan, who did not under-value her beauty as an asset. - -Perhaps it fell out as she hoped (things often did), for she had not -read more than three or four back numbers of _The Planet_, which lay on -the waiting-room table, when Ralph Mainbridge, flushed and almost -tremulous with excitement, came to say that Sir Edmund had consented to -see her at once. - -Without seeming as much overpowered as he expected, the girl prepared to -enter the presence of greatness. But she was not in reality as calm as -she appeared. The thunderous whirr of the printing-machines had almost -bereft her of the capacity for thought, just at the moment when she -wished to think clearly. Her nerves were twanging like the strings of a -violin which is out of tune, and it was an intense relief to be shot up -in the alarmingly rapid lift to a quieter region. The rumbling roar was -deadened on Sir Edmund's floor, and as the door of his private office -closed on her, it was shut out altogether. - -"Miss Carthew, from Lord Northmuir," the famous editor-proprietor said. -"I believe you have some interesting information for me." He smiled -with a certain dry benignity, for Joan was very pretty, and he was, -after all, a man. "I think I saw you downstairs." - -"I saw you, Sir Edmund." Joan's manner was dignified now, rather than -shy. "I trust you will not be angry, but within the last two hours -everything has changed for me. Lord Northmuir, whom I know well through -my cousin, Miss Mercy Milton, his ward (you may have heard of her; we -are said to resemble each other), has now changed his mind about -allowing the piece of information I meant for you to be published. He -has forbidden his name to be used, but it was too late to stop that. I -can only beg, for my cousin Miss Milton's sake more than my own, that -you will not let the fact come to his ears; if it should, she will -suffer." - -"You need not fear that," Sir Edmund reassured her; "but if you have no -information to give me, Miss--er----" - -"I had to come and explain why I hadn't," Joan cut in. "I hope you -won't blame poor Mr. Mainbridge for putting you to this trouble. It -isn't his fault, and he doesn't even know." - -"Who is Mr. Mainbridge? Oh, ah! yes, of course. Pray don't regard it -as a trouble. Quite the contrary. But unfortunately, I----" - -"You would say you are a very busy man," Joan threw into the editor's -suggestive pause. "I won't take up much more of your time. But I want -to say that, although I have nothing of value, as I hoped, to tell, I -shall have later, if you will consent to engage me on your staff." - -Sir Edmund laughed. He evidently considered Joan a spoiled darling of -Society with a new whim. "My dear young lady!" he exclaimed, "in what -capacity, pray? We do not devote space to fashions, even in a Saturday -edition. Would you come to us as a reporter, like your friend Mr. -Mainbridge?" - -"As a special reporter," amended Joan. "I would undertake any mission of -importance----" - -"There are none going begging on _The Planet_. But" (this soothingly by -way of sugaring a dismissal) "you have only to get hold of something -good and bring it to me. For instance, some nice, spicy little item as -to the truth of the rumoured alliance between Russia and Japan. We -would pay you quite well for that, you know, provided you gave it to us -in time to publish ahead of any other paper." - -"How much would you pay me?" asked Joan, nettled at this chaffing tone -of the famous man. - -"Enough to buy a new frock and perhaps a few hairpins; say a hundred -pounds." - -"That isn't enough," said Joan; "I should want a thousand." - -Sir Edmund turned a sudden, keen gaze upon the girl; then his face -relaxed. "We might rise to that. At all events, I'm safe in promising -it." - -"It _is_ a promise, then?" - -"Oh, certainly." - -"Thank you. Let me see if I understand clearly. I'm not quite the baby -you think, Sir Edmund. I read the papers--yours especially--and take, I -trust, an intelligent interest in the political situation. Now, the -latest rumour is that Russia is secretly planning an understanding with -Japan and China. What you would like to know is whether there is truth -in the rumour, and what, in that event, England would do." - -"Exactly. That is what all the papers are dying to find out." - -"If you could get the official news before any of them, you would give -the person who obtained it for you a thousand pounds. If, in addition, -they, or one of them--let us say _The Daily Beacon_--got the _wrong_ -news on the same day, you would no doubt add five hundred to the -original thousand; for revenge is sweet, even to an editor, I suppose, -and _The Beacon_ has, I have heard, contrived to be first in the field -on one or two important occasions within the last few years." - -This allusion was a pin-prick in a sensitive place, for Joan was aware -that _The Daily Beacon_ and _The Planet_ were deadly rivals as well as -political opponents. Mainbridge had told her the tale of _The Planet's_ -humiliation by the enemy, and she had not forgotten. _The Beacon_ had -been able, at the very time when _The Planet_ was arguing against their -probability, to assert that certain political events would take place, -and in time these statements had been justified, to the discomfiture of -_The Planet_. - -Sir Edmund frowned slightly. "_The Daily Beacon_ possesses exceptional -advantages," he sneered. "It is difficult for less favoured journals to -compete with it for political information." - -"I believe I can guess what you refer to," answered Joan. "I hear -things, you know, from my cousin, Miss Milton." (This to shield -Mainbridge.) "Lord Henry Borrowdaile, an Under Secretary of State, is a -distant relative of Mr. Portheous, the proprietor of _The Daily Beacon_, -and it is said that there has been a curious leakage of diplomatic -secrets, once or twice, by which _The Beacon_ profited." - -"You are a well-informed young lady." - -"I hope to earn your cheque as well as your compliment," said Joan. -"Perhaps you will write it before many days have passed." - -"It must be before many days, if at all." - -"I understand that time presses, if you are to be first in the field, -for the great secret can't be kept from the public for more than a week -or ten days at most. But look here, Sir Edmund, would you go that extra -five hundred if, on the day that your paper published the truth about -the situation, _The Beacon_ made a fool of itself by printing exactly -the opposite?" - -"Yes," said the editor, "I would." - -"Well, we shall see what we shall see," returned Joan. She then took -leave of Sir Edmund, who was certainly not in a mood to blame Mainbridge -for an introduction under false pretences, even if he were far from sure -that charming Miss Carthew could accomplish miracles. - -As for Joan, her head was in a whirl. She wanted to do this thing more -than she had ever wanted anything in her life, though it had not entered -her head a few moments ago. She would not despise fifteen hundred -pounds; but it was not of the money she was dreaming as she told her -cabman to drive to Battersea Park, and keep on driving till ordered to -stop. The strange girl could always collect and concentrate her -thoughts while driving, and this was her object now. - -Joan had never met Lord Henry Borrowdaile, but during her year at -Northmuir House she had known people who were friends or enemies of the -young man and his wife. She had her own reason for listening with -interest to intimate talk about the character and private affairs of -persons who were important figures in the world, for at any time she -might wish to use knowledge thus gained. She did not believe, from what -she had heard, that Lord Henry Borrowdaile, son of the Marquis of -Wastwater, was a man to betray State secrets for money. He was "bookish" -and literary, and though he was not rich, neither did he covet riches. -But he did adore his beautiful young wife, and was said by those who -knew him to be as wax in her hands. She was popular, as well as pretty; -was vain of being the leader of a very gay set, and dressed as if her -reputation depended upon being the best-gowned woman in London. Because -Lady Henry posed as an _ingenue_, who scarcely knew politics from polo, -Joan suspected her. "It is she who worms out secrets from her husband -and sells them to Portheous," Joan said to herself. "Oh! to be a fly on -the wall in the Borrowdailes' house for the next week!" - -This wish was so vivid, that like a lightning flash it seemed to -illumine the dim corners of the girl's brain. She suddenly recalled -another story of the inestimable Mainbridge's, told in connection with -the rivalry of _The Daily Beacon_ and _The Planet_. - -"An eminent statesman's servant told the secret of his master's intended -resignation," she said to herself. "Why shouldn't a servant at the -Borrowdailes'----" - -She did not finish out the thought at the moment; the vista it opened -was too wide to be taken in at a glance. But after driving for an hour -round and round Battersea Park, the patient cabman suddenly received an -order to go quickly to Clarkson's, the wigmaker. At the shop, the -hansom was discharged, and it was a very different-looking fare which -another cab picked up at the same door somewhat later. - - - - -CHAPTER X--The Coup of "The Planet" - - -About half-past five, a plump old country-woman, with a brown tissue -veil over her ruddy, wrinkled face, waddled into a green-grocer's not -far from South Audley Street. She bade the young man in the shop a -wheezy "Good day," and asked if she might be bold enough to inquire -whether Lady Henry Borrowdaile's housekeeper were a customer. Yes, the -youth admitted with pride, for anything in their line which was not sent -up from the Marquis of Wastwater's, in the country, they had the honour -of serving her Ladyship. - -"Ah! I thought how it would be, your place being so near, and the -nicest round about," said the old country-woman. "The truth is, I have -to go to the house on a disagreeable errand. I volunteered to do it for -a friend, and I've forgotten the number. I've to break some bad news to -one of the housemaids." - -"Not Miss Jessie Adams, I hope!" protested the young man, blushing up to -the roots of his light hair. - -"Yes, it is poor Jessie," said the old woman. "You know her?" - -"We've been walking out together the last six months. I suppose her -father's took bad again, or--or worse?" - -"He's living--or was when I left; but----" and the old-fashioned bonnet -with the veil shook ominously. "Well, I must go and do my duty. I hope -she'll be able to get home for a week or so." - -A few minutes later, Joan, delighted with her disguise and the detective -skill she was developing, rang the servants' bell at the Borrowdailes'. -She had learned what she had hoped to learn, the name of one of the -maids, and she had also learned something more--the fact that Jessie -Adams had a father whose state of health would afford an excuse for -absence; and the existence of a lover, who would probably urge immediate -marriage if there were enough money on either side. - -The old countrywoman with the brown veil was voluble to the footman who -opened the door. She explained that she had news from home for Jessie -Adams, and was shown into a servant's sitting-room, where presently -appeared a fresh-looking girl with languishing eyes, and a full, weak -mouth. - -"Oh, I thought perhaps it would be Aunt Emmy!" exclaimed the young -person in cap and apron. - -"No, I'm not Aunt Emmy, but you may take it I'm a friend," replied the -old woman. "Don't be frightened. Your father ain't so very bad, but -your folks would be glad to have you at home if you could manage it. -And, look here, my gell, here's good news for you. You may make a tidy -bit of money by going, if you can get off at once--this very night. How -much must you and that nice young man of yours put by before you can -marry?" - -"We can't marry till he sets up in business for himself, and it will -take a hundred pounds at least," said the girl. "We've each got about -ten pounds saved towards it. But what's ten pounds?" - -"Added on to ninety it makes a hundred, and you can earn that by lending -your place here for one fortnight to a niece of mine, who wants to be a -journalist and write what the doings inside a smart house are like. -She'd name no names, so you'd never be given away. All you'd have to do -would be to tell the housekeeper your father was took bad, and would she -let you go if you'd bring your cousin Maria in your stead--a clever, -experienced girl, with the best references from Lord Northmuir's house?" - -"My goodness me, you take my breath away!" gasped Jessie Adams. "How do -I know but your niece is a thief who'd steal her Ladyship's jewels?" - -"You don't know, except that I say she isn't. But, anyhow, what does it -matter to you? You don't need to come back or ever be in service again. -Here's the ninety pounds in gold, my dear. You can bite every piece, if -you wish; and you've but to do what I say to get them before you walk -out of this house. You settle matters with the housekeeper, and I'll -have my niece call on her within the hour." - -The girl with the languishing eyes and the weak mouth had her price, -like many of her betters, and it happened to be exactly ninety pounds. -Joan had brought a hundred, and considered that she had made a bargain. -Jessie consented to speak to the housekeeper, and the countrywoman -departed. By this time it was dusk. She took a four-wheeler and drove -to the gates of the Park. In a dark and lonely spot the outer disguise -was whisked off, and the paint wiped from her face. Underneath her -shawl she wore a neat black dress, suitable for a housemaid in search of -a situation. This, too, Joan had thoughtfully obtained at Clarkson's, -whence her pale blue cloth had been despatched by messenger to Woburn -Place. The bonnet was quickly shaped into a hat; the stuffing which had -plumped out the thin, girlish form was wrapped in the shawl which had -concealed it, and hidden under a bush. Joan's own hair was combed primly -back from her forehead, and strained so tightly at the sides as to -change the expression of her face completely. "Cousin Maria" was as -different from Miss Joan Carthew as a mouse is from a bird of Paradise. - -Cream could not be more velvety soft than Joan's voice, the eye of a -dove more mild than hers, as she conversed with Lady Henry Borrowdaile's -housekeeper. And she was armed with a magnificent reference. There had -been a Maria Jordan at Lord Northmuir's, as housemaid, in Joan's day -there, but the real Maria had gone to America, and it was safe and -simple to write in praise of this young person's character and -accomplishments, signing the document Mercy Milton. At worst, even if -Lady Henry's housekeeper sent the reference to Lord Northmuir's -housekeeper, the imposition could not be proved. Maria might have had -time to come back from America, and Miss Milton, now departed, might -have consented to please the housemaid by giving her a written -recommendation. - -But Maria Jordan's manner as an applicant to fill her cousin's place was -so respectful and respectable, and the need to decide was so pressing, -that Lady Henry's housekeeper resolved to accept Jordan, so to speak, on -face value. That same night Jessie Adams went home (or somewhere else), -and her cousin stepped into the vacant niche. - -Meanwhile, Joan had, on the plea of picking up her luggage, driven to -one or two cheap shops in the Tottenham Court Road, and provided herself -with a tin box and a suitable outfit for a superior housemaid. She was -thankful to find that she would have a room to herself, and delighted to -discover that Jessie Adams and Mathilde, Lady Henry's own maid, had been -on terms of friendship. Their rooms adjoined; Jessie had been teaching -Mathilde English in odd moments, and Mathilde had often obligingly -carried messages to the enamoured greengrocer. - -Joan lost not a moment in winning her way into Mathilde's good graces, -wasting the less time because she had already made preparations with a -view to such an end. She had bought a large box of delicious sweets, -which she pretended her own "young man" had given her, and this she -placed at the French girl's disposal. It happened that Lady Henry was -dining out and going to the theatre afterwards that night, and Mathilde, -being free, visited Maria easily in her room, where she sat on the bed, -swinging her well-shod feet and eating cream chocolates. Maria, in the -course of conversation, chanced to mention that her "young man" was the -partner of a French hairdresser in Knightsbridge; that the two were -intimate friends; that the hairdresser was young, singularly handsome, -well-to-do, and looking out for a Parisienne as a wife. This Admirable -Crichton was in France at present, on business, Maria added, but he -would return in the course of a fortnight, when Maria's "young man" -should effect an introduction, as she was sure that Monsieur Jacques -would fall in love at first sight with Mathilde. - -Mathilde pretended indifference, but she thought Maria the nicest girl -she had met in England, far more _chic_ than Jessie; and when she heard -that her new friend longed to be a lady's maid, she offered to coach her -in the art. Maria was gushingly grateful, for though she had (she said) -already acted as maid to one or two ladies, they had not been "swells" -like Lady Henry, and lessons from Mathilde would be of inestimable -value. - -"I suppose," she went on coaxingly, "that if I showed you I could do -hair nicely, and understood what was wanted of a lady's maid, you -wouldn't be took ill, and give me a chance to try my hand on Lady Henry? -Practice on her Ladyship would be worth a lot of lessons, wouldn't it? -My goodness! I'd give all my savings for such a chance in a house like -this! Think of the help it would be to me afterwards to say I'd been -understudy, as you might call it, to a real expert like Mathilde, Lady -Henry Borrowdaile's own maid, and given great satisfaction in the part! -It might mean a good place for me. I ain't jokin', mademoiselle. I've -got twenty-five sovereigns saved up, and if you'll have neuralgia so bad -you can't lift your head from the pillow for three or four days, those -twenty-five sovereigns are yours." - -"_Mais_, for me to have ze neuralgia, it do not make that milady take -you for my place," said the laughing Mathilde. - -"No, but leave that to me. You shall have the money just the same." - -"All right," said Mathilde, giggling, scarce believing that her friend -was in earnest. "I have ze neuralgia _demain_--to-morrow." - -Joan sprang up and went to the new tin box. She bent over it for a -moment, with her back to Mathilde; then she turned, with a stocking in -her hand--a stocking fat in the foot, and tied round the ankle with a -bit of ribbon. "Count what's there," she exclaimed, emptying the -stocking in Mathilde's lap. - -There were gold and silver, and even a little copper. Altogether, the -sum amounted to that which Maria had named, and a few shillings over. - -Mathilde was dazzled. What with this bird in hand, and another in the -bush (the eligible hairdresser), she was ready to do almost anything for -Maria. Later that night, in undressing Lady Henry, she complained of -suffering such agony that she feared for the morrow. Luckily, should -she be incapacitated for a short time, there was a girl now in the house -(a young person in the place of the first housemaid, absent on account -of trouble in the family) who had been lady's maid and knew her -business. Lady Henry was too sleepy to care what might happen -to-morrow--indeed, scarcely listened to Mathilde's murmurings; but when -to-morrow was to-day, and a sweet-faced, sweet-voiced girl announced -that Mathilde could not leave her bed, the spoiled beauty remembered -last night's conversation. After some grumbling, she consented to try -what Jordan could do; and while the second housemaid pouted over Maria's -work, Maria was busy ingratiating herself with Lady Henry--ingratiating -herself so thoroughly that Mathilde would have trembled jealously for -the future could she have seen or heard. Joan was one of those rare -creatures, born for success, who set their teeth in unbreakable resolve -to do whatever they must do, well. Being a lady herself, with all a -lady's fastidious tastes, she knew how a lady liked to be waited upon. -She was not attracted by Lady Henry, whom men called an angel, and women -"a cat," but she was as attentive as if her whole happiness depended on -her mistress's approbation. Mathilde was efficient, but frivolous and -flighty, sometimes inclined to sulkiness; and Lady Henry, superbly -indifferent to the sufferings of servants, decided that she would not be -sorry if Mathilde were ill a long time. - -Two or three days went by; Joan kept the Parisienne supplied with -_bonbons_ and French novels, and carried up all her meals, arranged -almost as daintily as if they had been for her Ladyship. Mathilde was -happy, and Joan was--waiting. But her patience was not to be tried for -long. - -On the third day, she was told that her mistress was dining at home, -alone with Lord Henry. This was such an unusual event that Joan was -sure it meant something, especially when Lady Henry demanded one of her -prettiest frocks. A footman, inclined to be Maria's slave, was smiled -upon, intercepted during dinner, and questioned. "They're behaving like -turtle-doves," said he. - -Joan had expected this. "That little cat has guessed or discovered that -everything is settled, and she means to get the truth out of him this -evening, so that somehow she can give the news to _The Daily Beacon_ -to-night, in time to go to press for to-morrow," the girl reflected. - -She was excited, but the great moment had come, and she kept herself -rigidly under control, for much depended upon calmness and fertility in -resource. "They will have their coffee in Lady Henry's boudoir," Joan -reflected, "and that is when she will get to work." - -She thought thus on her way upstairs, carrying a dress of Lady Henry's, -from which she had been brushing the marks of a muddy carriage-wheel. -She laid it on a chair, and saw on another a milliner's box. Her -mistress had not mentioned that she was expecting anything, and Joan's -curiosity was aroused. She untied the fastenings, lifted a layer of -tissue paper, and saw a neat, dark green tailor-dress, with a toque made -of the same material and a little velvet. There was also a long, plain -coat of the green cloth, with gold buttons, and on the breast pocket was -embroidered an odd design in gold thread. - -Joan suddenly became thoughtful. This dress was as unlike as possible -to the butterfly style which Lady Henry affected, and all who knew her -knew that she detested dark colours. Yet this costume was distinctly -sombre and severe; and the name of the milliner was unfamiliar to Joan. - -"It's like a disguise," the girl said to herself, "and I'll bet anything -that's what it's for. She went to a strange milliner; she made a point -of the things being ready to-night; she chose a costume which would -absolutely change her appearance, if worn with a thick veil. And then -that bit of embroidery on the pocket! Why, it's a miniature copy of the -design they print under the title of _The Beacon_. It is a beacon, -flaming! She means to slip out of the house when she's got the secret -safe, and somebody at the office of the paper will have been ordered to -take a veiled woman with such a dress as this up to Portheous' private -office, without her speaking a word. Well--a woman will go there, but I -hope it won't be Lady Henry." - -Without stopping for an instant's further reflection, Joan caught up the -box and flew with it to her own room, where she pushed it under the bed. -She then watched her chance, and when no one was in sight, darted into -the boudoir, where she squeezed herself behind a screen close to the -door. She might have found a more convenient hiding-place, but this, -though uncomfortable, gave her an advantage. If the two persons she -expected to enter the room elected to sit near the fireplace, as they -probably would, Joan might be able to steal noiselessly away without -being seen or heard. - -She had not had much time to spare, for ten minutes after she had -plastered herself against the wall, Lord and Lady Henry came in. They -went to the sofa in front of the fire and chatted of commonplaces until -after the coffee and _Orange Marnier_ had been brought. Then Lady Henry -took out her jewelled cigarette-case, gave a cigarette to her husband -and took one herself. To light hers from his, she perched on Lord -Henry's knee, remaining in that position to play with his hair, her -white fingers flashing with rings. She cooed to her husband prettily, -saying how nice it was to be with him alone, and how it grieved her to -see him weary and worried. - -"Is the old Russian Bear going to take hands and dance prettily with -little Japan and big China, darling?" she purred. "You know, precious, -talking to me is as safe as talking to yourself." - -"I know, my pet. Thank goodness, the strain is over. England and -France together have brought such pressure to bear, that Russia was in a -funk. The ultimatum we issued----" - -"Oh, then, the ultimatum _was_ sent?" - -"Yes. If Russia had held firm, nothing could have prevented war. But -for obvious diplomatic reasons, the papers must not be able to state -officially that any negotiations of the sort have ever taken place. -There has been a rumour, but that will die out." - -"Ah, well, I'm glad there won't be war; but as _you're_ not a soldier, -and can't be killed, it wouldn't have broken my heart. Kiss me and let's -talk of something amusing. Your poor pet gets a headache if she has to -think of affairs of State too long." - -Joan did not wait for the end of the last sentence. She began with the -utmost caution to move the farther end of the screen forward, until she -could reach the door-handle. With infinite patience she turned the knob -at the rate of an inch a minute, until it was possible to open the door. -Then she pulled it slowly, very slowly, towards her. At last she could -slip into the corridor, where she had an instant of sickening fear lest -she should be detected by a passing servant. Luck was with her, however; -but instead of seizing the chance to run upstairs unseen, she stopped, -shut the door as softly as it had been opened, and then knocked. Lady -Henry's voice, with a ring of relief, called "Come in!" Joan showed -herself on the threshold, and announced that a person from Frasquet's, -of George Street, had called to say that by mistake a costume ordered by -Lady Henry had been sent to the wrong address, but that search would at -once be made, and the box brought to South Audley Street as soon as -found. - -Lady Henry sprang up with an exclamation of anger, and called down the -vengeance of the gods upon the house of Frasquet. - -"Might I suggest, your Ladyship, that I go with the messenger, and make -sure of bringing back the box, if the dress is a valuable one?" asked -Joan. - -Lady Henry caught at this idea. Joan was bidden to run away and not to -come back till she had the box. "I will give you a sovereign if you -bring it home before midnight," she added. - -Joan walked calmly out with the box from Frasquet's, took a cab, and -drove to Woburn Place, where, in her own room, she dressed herself as -Lady Henry had intended to be dressed. The frock and coat fitted -sufficiently well, for Jordan and her mistress were somewhat of the same -figure. An embroidered black veil, with one of chiffon underneath, -completely hid her features; and, heavily perfumed with Lady Henry's -favourite scent, at precisely a quarter to eleven she presented herself -at the office of _The Daily Beacon_. A gesture of a gloved hand towards -the flaming gold on the coat was as if a password had been spoken. She -was conducted to a private office on the first floor, and there received -by a bearded, red-faced man, who sprang up on her entrance. - -"Well--well?" he demanded. - -The veiled and scented lady put her finger to her lips. - -"'Sh!" she breathed. Then, disguising her voice by whispering, she went -on. "Russia China, and Japan have signed the alliance, in spite of -England and France, whom they have defied very insolently, and it's only -a question of a short time before the storm breaks. There! That's all, -in a nutshell. I must run away at once." - -[Illustration: "'Sh!' she breathed."] - -"A thousand thanks! You're a brick!" Mr. Portheous pressed the gloved -hand and left a cheque in it. "We shall go to press with this -immediately." - -Joan glanced at the cheque, saw it was for seven hundred pounds, and -despised Lady Henry for cheapening the market. Her waiting cab drove her -a few streets farther on, to the office of _The Planet_. A card with -the name of Miss Carthew, and "Important private business" scrawled upon -it, was the "Open, sesame!" to Sir Edmund Foster's door. - -"Have you your cheque-book handy?" she nonchalantly asked. - -"What for?" - -"_Quid pro quo._" Joan rushed into her whole story, which she told from -beginning to end, proving its truth by showing Mr. Portheous' cheque -made out to Mrs. Anne Randall. "Lady Henry, no doubt, has an account -somewhere under that name. She's too sharp to use her own," added the -girl. "Do you believe me now?" - -"Yes. You're wonderful. I shall risk printing the news exactly as you -have given it to me." - -"You won't regret your trust. But I don't want your cheque to-night. -I'll take it to-morrow, when I can say: 'I told you so.'" - -"Would you still like to come on our staff--at a salary of ten pounds a -week?" - -"No, thank you, Sir Edmund. I've brought off my big _coup_, and -anything more in the newspaper line would be, I fear, an anticlimax. -Besides, I want to play with my fifteen hundred pounds." - -"What shall you do now?" - -"Go back to the house which has the honour of being my home, change my -clothes, hurry breathlessly to South Audley Street, and inform Lady -Henry that her costume can't be found. She will then, in desperation, -decide to send a note to _The Daily Beacon_, which, my prophetic soul -whispers, she will order me to take." - -"Shall you go?" - -"Out of the house, yes--never, never to return, for my work there is -done. But not to the office of _The Beacon_. Lady Henry's box shall be -sent to her by parcel post to-morrow morning, and Mrs. Randall's cheque -will be in the coat pocket. That will surprise her a little, but it -won't matter to me; for, after having called here for my cheque, I think -I'll take the two o'clock train for the Continent. I shall have plenty -of money to enjoy myself, and I feel I need a change of air." - -"You are wonderful!" repeated Sir Edmund Foster. - - - - -CHAPTER XI--Kismet and a V.C. - - -"Now, where on earth have I seen that girl before?" Joan Carthew asked -herself. - -It was at Biarritz, where she was enjoying, as she put it to herself, a -well-earned holiday; and she was known at her hotel, and among the few -acquaintances she had made, as the Comtesse de Merival, a young widow -with plenty of money. She was a Comtesse because it is easy to say that -one has married a sprig of foreign nobility, without being found out; -she was a widow because it is possible for a widow to be alone, -unchaperoned, and to amuse herself without ceasing to be _comme il -faut_. - -Joan had amused herself a great deal during the six weeks since she had -left England, and the cream of the amusement had consisted in inventing -a romantic story about herself and getting it believed. It was as good -as acting in a successful play which one has written for oneself. - -At the present moment she was walking on the _plage_, pleasantly -conscious that she was one of the prettiest and best-dressed women among -many who were pretty and well-dressed. Then a blonde girl passed her, a -blonde girl who was new to Biarritz, but who, somehow, did not seem new -to Joan's retina. Her photograph was somewhere in the book of memory, -and, oddly enough, it seemed to have a background of sea and blue sky, -as it had to-day. - -The girl was pretty, as a beautifully dressed, golden-haired doll in a -shop window is pretty. She was also exceedingly "good form," and she was -vouched for as a young person of importance by a remarkably -distinguished-looking old man who strolled beside her. - -They turned, and in passing the "Comtesse" for the second time, the girl -looked full in Joan's face, with a lingering gaze such as a spoiled -beauty often directs upon a possible rival. - -Then, all in an instant, Joan knew. - -"Why," she reminded herself, "it's the girl I saw at Brighton--the girl -I envied. I know it is she. That's eight years ago, but I can't be -mistaken." - -Somehow this seemed an important discovery. If Joan, a miserable, -overworked slavey of twelve, nursing her tyrant's baby, had not been -bitten with consuming jealousy of a child no older but a thousand times -more fortunate than herself, she might have gone on indefinitely as a -slavey, and might never have had a career. - -The little girl at Brighton had looked scornfully from under her softly -drooping Leghorn hat at the shabby child-nurse, and a rage of resentment -had boiled in Joan's passionate young heart. Now, the tall girl at -Biarritz looked with half-reluctant admiration from under an equally -becoming hat at the Comtesse de Merival, who was more beautiful and -apparently quite as fortunate as she. Nevertheless the old scar -suddenly throbbed again, so that Joan remembered there had once been a -wound; and she knew that she had no gratitude for the girl to whom, -indirectly, she owed her rise in the world. - -Joan was usually generous to women, even when she had no cause to love -them, for, with all her faults, there was nothing of the "cat" in her -nature; yet, to her surprise, she felt that she would like to hurt this -girl in some way. "What a brute I must be!" she said to herself. "I -didn't know I was so bad. Really I mustn't let this sort of thing grow -on me, otherwise I shall degenerate from a highwayman (rather a gallant -one, I think) into a cad, and I should lose interest in foraging for -myself if I were a cad." - -As she thought this, the girl and her companion were joined by a man. -Joan glanced, then gazed, and decided that he was the most interesting -man to look at whom she had ever seen in her life. Not that he was the -handsomest, as mere beauty of feature goes, but he was of exactly the -type which Joan and most women admire at heart above all others. - -One did not need to be told, to know that he was a soldier. As he stood -talking to his friends, with his hat off, and the sun chiselling the -ripples of his close-cropped hair in bronze, his head towered above -those of the other men who came and went. His face was bronze, too, of -a lighter shade, blending into ivory half way up the forehead, and his -features were strong and clear-cut as a bronze man's should always be. -He wore no moustache or beard, and his mouth and chin were self-reliant, -firm, and generous, but Joan liked his eyes best of all. As she passed -slowly, they met hers for a second, and their clear depths were brown -and bright as a Devonshire brook when the noonday sun shines into it. - -It was only for a second that the man's soul looked at her from its -windows, but it was long enough to make her sharply realise two facts. -One, that she was far, far beneath him; the other, that he was the only -man in the world for her. - -"To think that _that_ girl should know him, and I not!" she said to -herself rebelliously. "He is miles too good for me, but he's more miles -too good for her, because she hasn't any soul, and I have, even though -it's a bad one. Again, after all these years, that girl passes through -my life, taking with her as she goes what I would give all I own, all I -might ever gain, to have. It's Kismet--nothing less." - -"_Ah, Comtesse, bon jour_!" murmured a voice that Joan knew, and then it -went on in very good English, with only a slight foreign accent: "You -are charming to-day, but you do not see your friends. They must remind -you of their existence before they can win a bow." - -"I have just seen some one who was like a ghost out of the past," -returned Joan, with a careless smile for the handsome, dark young man -who had stopped to greet her. - -"What!" his face lighted up. "You know that young lady you were looking -at? That is indeed interesting, and I will tell you why, presently, if -you will let me. If you would but introduce me--at all events, to the -father. The rest I can do for myself." - -"I don't know her," said Joan, "although an important issue of my life -was associated with the girl. I can't even give you her name." - -"I can do as much as that for you," said the Marchese Villa Fora. "She -is a Miss Violet Ffrench, and the old man is her father, General -Ffrench. Not only is she one of the greatest beauties, but one of the -greatest heiresses in England." - -"Ah!" said Joan, "no wonder you are interested." - -"No wonder. But what good does that do to me, since I have not the -honour of her acquaintance, and since she is to marry that great, bronze -statue of a fellow?" - -A pang shot through Joan's heart, and she was ashamed because it was a -jealous pang. "She is to marry him! How do you know that, since you -are not acquainted with her?" - -"It is an open secret. I saw the father and daughter in Paris three -weeks ago, and fell in love at first sight--ah! you may laugh. You -Englishwomen cannot understand us Latins. It is true that I proposed to -you, but you would not take me, and my heart was soon after caught in -the rebound. It is very simple." - -"You thought that you fell in love with me at first sight, too; at -least, you said so, and without any introduction except picking up my -purse when I dropped it in the Champs Elysees." - -"I got an introduction afterwards." - -"Yes, a lady who was staying at my hotel." - -"At all events, she vouched for me. She has known my family for years, -in Madrid." - -"She warned me against you, Marchese. She said that you were a -fortune-hunter, and that you fancied I was rich. When you had proposed, -and I had told you frankly that my fortune was but silver-gilt, -warranted to keep its colour for a few years only, you were very much -obliged to me for refusing you, as it saved you the trouble of jilting -me afterwards. You are still more obliged to me now that you have met a -genuine heiress who has all other desirable qualifications as well." - -"You are cruel," exclaimed Villa Fora, to whose style of good looks -reproaches were becoming. "Cannot a man love twice? What does it matter -to the heart whether there has been an interval of weeks or of years? I -am madly in love with Miss Ffrench, and as you promised to be my friend -if I would 'talk no more nonsense,' I have no hesitation in confessing -it to you. I followed her here from Paris, and arrived only this -afternoon. She is at the Hotel Victoria; therefore, so am I." - -"So am I, but not 'therefore,'" cut in Joan. "And the--the man you say -she is to marry?" - -"Colonel Sir Justin Wentworth? He is at the Grand. But he has come for -her. I know the whole story--I have it from a gossiping old lady who is -_au courant_ with every one's affairs if they are worth bothering with; -and she does not make mistakes. She has told me that General Ffrench was -the guardian of this Sir Justin, that the father--a baronet--was his -dearest friend. The match has been an understood thing ever since -Wentworth was eighteen and the girl five; for there is quite thirteen -years' difference in their ages." - -"Then he is about thirty-four or five," said Joan thoughtfully. - -"Yes, but in that I am not interested. The awful part for me is that the -girl is now of age, and the obstacle of her youth no longer prevents the -marriage. Any day the worst may happen. If I could only meet her, I -might have a chance to undermine the cold, bronze statue, even though he -has a great reputation as a soldier, and is a V.C. But how to manage an -introduction? The father has the air of a mediaeval dragon." - -Joan's heart said: "The man is not a cold statue," but aloud she -remarked: "I see now why you hoped that I knew Miss Ffrench. You wanted -_me_ to manage it. Well, perhaps I can, even as it is. I have -undertaken more difficult things and succeeded." - -"Oh, if you would! But why should I hope it, since you have nothing to -gain?" - -Joan dropped her eyes and did not answer. - -"Yet you will try?" pleaded Villa Fora. - -"Yet I will try, on one condition. You must be a connection of the late -Comte de Merival." - -"Your husband!" - -Joan smiled as she nodded. - -"I am Spanish; he was, I understand, French. But then that presents no -difficulty. There are such things as international marriages." - -"Yes. Your mother's sister married an uncle of my husband's, didn't -she?" - -"Quite so. It is settled," agreed the Marchese gravely. - -"Well, then, that is the sharp end of the wedge. I will do my best and -cleverest to insert it," said Joan. "As you have just arrived, it will -be the easier. We are cousins. It can appear to all those whom it does -not concern (meaning the gossips of the hotel) that you have run on to -see your cousin. For the rest, you must trust me for a day or two, or -perhaps more." - -Joan had tea--with her cousin--at Miremont's; and they saw the Ffrenches -and Sir Justin Wentworth, also having tea. Violet Ffrench looked at -Joan with the same side-glance of half-grudging admiration as before, -and Joan looked, now and then, at Violet Ffrench with a charming, frank -gaze, which seemed to say: "You are so sweetly pretty that I can't keep -my eyes off you, and I like you for being pretty." In reality it said -something quite different, but it was effects, not realities, which -mattered at the moment. - -Thus the campaign had begun, though the enemy was blissfully ignorant of -the activity upon the other side. - -Joan went back to the hotel rather earlier than she had intended, and -going straight to the large, empty dining-room, rang for the head -waiter. When he appeared, she asked if it were yet arranged where a new -arrival, General Ffrench, was to sit with his daughter. The waiter -pointed out a small table or two, near the centre of the room; but -before his hand withdrew from the gesture, it was turned palm upward in -answer to a slight, silent hint from Joan. Finally, it retired with a -louis in its clasp. "I want you to put my table close to theirs," said -she. "It shall be done, madame," replied the man; and it was done. -Therefore Joan and Violet could scarcely help exchanging more glances -from between their red-shaded candles that night at dinner, which Joan -ate alone, unaccompanied by the wistful Villa Fora. - -The Ffrenches appeared to know nobody in the hotel, and of this she was -glad. There was the more chance for her. - -After dinner there was conjuring, and Joan contrived to sit next to Miss -Ffrench. Villa Fora was on the opposite side of the big drawing-room, -where he had reluctantly gone in obedience to his "cousin's" -instructions. The conjuring made conversation, and Joan was not -surprised to find the heiress open to flattery. When the performance -was over, she kept her seat; and by this time, having introduced herself -to Miss Ffrench, the introduction was passed on to the father. He, good -man, was too well-born to be actually a snob, but he had no objection to -titles, even foreign ones, and the Comtesse de Merival was so pretty, so -modest, altogether such good form, that he had no objection to her as, -at least, an hotel acquaintance for his daughter. - -It seemed that General Ffrench had been ordered to Biarritz for his -health, and that he hoped to do some golfing; but Miss Ffrench hated -golf, and as she had no friends in the place, she expected to be very -dull. - -At this, Joan reminded her gaily of the friend with whom she and her -father had been walking in the afternoon. - -"Oh, but he is such an old friend, he doesn't count," exclaimed Violet, -blushing a little. - -"She isn't a bit in love with him," thought Joan. "What a shame! -But--_tant mieux_. She is vain and romantic; often the two qualities go -together in a woman. The ground is all prepared for me." - -By and by, Sir Justin Wentworth strolled in from his hotel. Though she -was dying to stay and meet him, and perhaps have a few words, Joan rose -and walked away. This course was approved by General Ffrench. He would -have known what to think if the beautiful Comtesse had made herself -fascinating, at such short notice, to his son-in-law elect. - -Joan talked with her "cousin," who had been in the smoking-room, and -Violet Ffrench had time to be intensely curious as to the connection -between her charming new acquaintance, the Comtesse de Merival, and the -handsome, dark young man who had been in her hotel at Paris. He had -looked at her then; he looked at her now. What was he to the Comtesse? -what was the Comtesse to him? - -Next morning, both General Ffrench and Sir Justin Wentworth walked off -to the golf-links, leaving Violet to write letters in the glass room -that looked out on the sea. Presently Joan came in, with a writing-case -in her hand, and Violet stopped in the midst of the first sentence of -her first letter. Joan did not even begin to write, nor had she ever -cherished the faintest intention of doing so. - -Violet rather hoped that she would mention the dark young man, but she -did not; and then, of course, Violet hoped it a great deal more. The -two girls drifted from one subject to another, and finally, by way of a -favourite author and a popular novel of the moment, they touched the key -of romance. - -"I used to think that romance was dead in this century, but lately I -have been finding out that it isn't," said Joan. "Oh, not personally. -Romance is over for me. I loved my husband, you see, and he died the day -of our wedding; I married him on his death-bed. That is not romance; it -is tragedy. But I am speaking of what I should not speak of, to you, so -let us talk of something else." - -"Why?" asked Violet. - -"Oh, because--because I have an idea that you are engaged." - -"How can that matter?" - -"It does matter. I oughtn't to explain, so you mustn't urge me." - -"You rouse my curiosity," said Violet; but this was not news to Joan. - -"Engaged girls shouldn't have curiosity about anything outside their own -romances," replied the Comtesse de Merival mysteriously. - -"I've never had a real romance," sighed Violet. "I've always been more -or less engaged to Sir Justin Wentworth ever since I can remember. He -is a splendid fellow, as you can see." - -"I hardly noticed," said Joan; then added, in a whisper, but not too low -a whisper to be heard: "I was so busy pitying someone else." - -Violet's colour rose, and she was really a very pretty girl, though -vanity made her eyes cold. - -"Sir Justin's father and mine were old chums," went on Violet. "Our -place and his lie close together in Devonshire. We have even some of -the same money-interests--mines in Australia. He has heaps of money, -too, so there's no question of his needing to think of mine." - -"As if any man could think of your money when he had you to think of!" -exclaimed Joan. "No doubt you will be very happy. Such a long -friendship ought to be a good foundation for the rest, and yet--and -yet--it's a pity that you should have to marry and become a placid -British matron without first knowing some of the wild joys of _real_ -love, real romance." - -"I thought you doubted there being any left in the world?" - -"No; I said I had found at least one case which had built up my faith -again; a case of passionate love, born at first sight, and strong enough -to carry the man across the world, if necessary, to follow the woman he -loves." - -"Such love isn't likely to come my way." - -"It has come your way. It is here--close to you. Oh, I have done -wrong! I should not have spoken. But I am so sorry for him--my poor, -handsome cousin." - -"Your cousin!" This was a revelation, and Violet's eyes were not cold -now, but warm with interest. - -"Yes, the Marchese Villa Fora, the best-looking and one of the best-born -young men in Spain. But indeed we must not talk of him. What a lovely -day it is! I must have my motor-car out this afternoon. How I should -love to take you with me!" - -Violet would ask no more questions; but all that had been dark was now -clear, and she could think of nothing and no one except the Comtesse's -cousin, the Marchese Villa Fora. - -Joan had been in the hotel at Biarritz for ten days, and by the trick of -"being nice" (she knew how to be very nice) to the unattached old ladies -and middle-aged dowagers, she had been accepted on her own valuation. -She did not flirt, she had a title, she appeared to be rich, she owned a -motor-car, therefore none of her statements regarding herself was -doubted. General Ffrench made an inquiry or two concerning her, was -satisfied with the replies, and therefore consented to let his daughter -join an automobile party arranged by the Comtesse for the afternoon. - -Somehow, in the motor-car, Violet sat next to the Marchese Villa Fora, -who gazed at her sadly with magnificent eyes and said very little. It -was extremely interesting, she discovered, to sit shoulder to shoulder -with a man who was dying of hopeless love for you, and had followed you -across France, though he had never spoken a word to you until to-day. -It was he who helped her out when they came back to the hotel, and the -thrill in her fingers after his had pressed them almost convulsively for -an instant remained for a long time. - - - - -CHAPTER XII--A New Love and an Old Enemy - - -Now, the thin end of the entering wedge, of which Joan had hinted, was -well in, and after this day events moved swiftly. The Comtesse de -Merival and Miss Ffrench were close friends. Violet opened her heart to -Joan and told her everything that was in it--not a long list. Joan -sympathised and advised. She did so want dear Violet to be happy, she -said, for happiness was the best thing in the world; and love was -happiness. She wanted her to have that. - -The two girls were together constantly, and this meant that Joan soon -began to see a good deal of Sir Justin Wentworth. Quickly she diagnosed -that he cared nothing for Violet Ffrench, except in a kindly, -protective, affectionate way, but that he had a deep regard for her -father. He would never try to free himself of the tacit understanding -into which he had drifted as a boy; if any change were to come, the -initiative must be taken, and firmly taken, by Violet. - -Meanwhile, two things were happening. If Violet was not precisely -falling in love with Villa Fora, she was in love with the idea of him -which was growing up in her mind; and Justin Wentworth had discovered -that he craved for something more in life than Violet Ffrench could ever -give him. - -He had gone on contentedly enough for the several years during which he -had definitely thought of the marriage. There had been the Boer war, -and then the interest of coming home to England and his beautiful old -place in Devonshire, which he loved. But now, quite suddenly, he had -awakened to the fact that contentment is no better than desperate -resignation; and though he was hardly aware of it yet, the awakening had -come to him when looking into Joan's eyes. - -He would not confess to himself that he loved her, but he thought that -she was the most vivid creature he had ever met, and he could not help -realising how curiously congenial they were in most of their thoughts. -Often he seemed to feel what she was feeling, without a word being -spoken on either side, and unconsciously he was jealous of the handsome -Spanish cousin with whom (General Ffrench innocently suggested) the -Comtesse would probably make a match. - -Joan, on her part, cared too much by this time to be able to see -clearly, where her own affairs were concerned. She had begun the little -comedy she was playing not for the sake of Villa Fora, but for her own, -with the deliberate intention of separating Violet Ffrench from Justin -Wentworth, even though she might never come any nearer to him herself. -All the machinery which she had set going was running smoothly. Violet -was fascinated by Villa Fora, was meeting him secretly and receiving -notes from him; he was determined to bring matters to a climax soon, and -was sure of his success. General Ffrench played golf all day, bridge -half the night, and suspected nothing; nor, apparently, did any one -else. Still, Joan was more miserable than she had ever been in her -life--far more miserable than when Lady Thorndyke had died without -making a new will and left her penniless. - -The girl saw herself at last as she was, unscrupulous, an adventuress, -living on her wits and the lack of wits in others. She hated herself, -and worshipped more and more each day the honourable soldier from whom -her own unworthiness (if there were no other barrier) must, she felt, -put her irrevocably apart. - -Even as Joan talked to Violet of Wentworth and Villa Fora, outwardly -agreeing with the girl that the one was cold, that it was the other who -knew how to love, her whole soul was in rebellion against itself. "He -does not think of me at all," she would repeat over and over again, -despite the secret voice of instinct which whispered a contradiction. -"He doesn't think of me; and even if he did, he would only have to know -half the truth to despise me as the vilest of women." - -Then, one day, there was a great scandal at the hotel. The Marchese -Villa Fora had run away with Miss Violet Ffrench, in the Comtesse de -Merival's motor-car, which lately he had been learning to drive. Even -Joan was taken by surprise, for she had not known that the thing was -going to happen so soon. She was actually able to tell the truth--or -something approaching the truth--when she assured the father and the -deserted _fiance_ that she was innocent of complicity. So candid were -her beautiful, wet eyes, so tremulous her sweet voice, and so pale the -delicate oval of her cheeks, that both men believed her, and one of them -was so happy in this sudden relief from the weight of a great burden -that he could have sung aloud. - -General Ffrench was far from happy; but he determined that, rather than -give fuel to the scandal, he would make the best of things as they were. -To this course he was partly persuaded by the counsels of Justin -Wentworth. Villa Fora was undoubtedly what he pretended to be, a -Spanish marquis of very ancient and honourable lineage, though it would -take many golden bricks to rebuild the family castle in Spain. The girl -had gone with him, and gone too far before the truth came out to be -brought back with good grace, therefore it were well to let her become -the Marchesa Villa Fora quietly, without useless ragings. - -The thing Joan had set herself to accomplish was done; she had separated -Justin Wentworth and Violet Ffrench for ever, and now the end had come. -She was hurt and sore, and could hardly bear to see her own face in the -glass, for she imagined that it had grown hard and cruel--that Justin -Wentworth must find it so. - -General Ffrench openly announced his daughter's marriage to the Marchese -Villa Fora, and told all inquirers that he was going to join her in -Madrid; but Justin Wentworth would not, of course, accompany his old -friend on such a mission. He would set his face towards England, and -with this intention he said "Good-bye" to the Comtesse de Merival. - -"This has hurt and shocked you, too," he said. "There is one thing I -must say to you, and it is this: it is only for her father that I care. -I want her to be happy in her own way. We did not suit each other." - -"I used sometimes to think not," Joan answered in a voice genuinely -broken. "I used to be afraid that--if you should ever marry--you would -not have been happy. Perhaps she--wasn't the right one for you." - -Her eyes were downcast, but the compelling power of love in the man's -caught them up to his and held them. - -"I have known that she wasn't the right one for a long time," he said. -"I have known the right one, and it is you. I love you with all my -heart. I want you. You are the one woman on earth for me. I hadn't -meant to say this now, but--I can't let you go out of my life. I must -do all I can to keep you always." - -"Don't!" gasped Joan. "Don't! it will kill me. Oh, if you only knew, -how you would hate me!" - -"Nothing could make me hate you." - -"Yes. Wait!" And then Joan poured out the whole story--not only of -this last fraud, but of all the frauds; the story of her "career." - -He listened to the end, without interrupting her once. Then, at last, -when the strange tale was finished, and the pale girl was silent from -sheer exhaustion of the hopeless spirit tasting its punishment in -purgatory, he held out his arms. - -"Poor, little, lonely girl!" he said. "How sorry I am for you! How I -want to comfort and take care of you all the rest of your life, so that -it may be clear and white, as your true self would have it be! And--how -glad I am that you're not a widowed Comtesse!" - - ---- - -She was in his arms still when a knock at the door roused them both from -the first dream of real happiness the girl had ever known. - -A servant brought a card. She took it from the tray and read it out -mechanically: "Mr. George Gallon." - -"Tell the gentleman----" she had begun; but before she could go further -with her instructions George Gallon himself had entered the room. - -"Well, Miss Carthew," he said, "I heard from an unexpected source that -you were here, swaggering about as the widow of a French Comte. I -needed a little holiday, and so I ran out to see whether you were a -greater success as a Comtesse than you were as a typewriter in my -office. Oh! I beg your pardon. You're not alone. I'm afraid I may -have surprised your friend with some disagreeable news." - -"Not at all," said Justin Wentworth calmly. "Miss Carthew has not only -told me of that episode in her life, but how it became necessary for her -to take up the position of a typewriter. Your treatment of her seemed -almost incredible--until I saw you. No wonder it was necessary for Miss -Carthew to adopt an _alias_, if this is the sort of persecution she is -subject to under her own name. But in future it will be different. As -Lady Wentworth she will be safe even from cads like you; and though she -is not yet my wife, I'm thankful to say I have even now the right to -protect her. When do you intend to leave Biarritz, Mr. Gallon?" - -[Illustration: "'When do you intend to leave Biarritz?'"] - -George opened his lips furiously, but snapped them shut again. Then, -having paused to reflect, he said: "I am here only for an hour. I'm -going on to Spain." - -"Pray watch over your tongue in that hour," returned Wentworth. - -Then George Gallon was gone. - -"I'll worship you all my life on my knees," said Joan. "I'm not worthy -to touch your hand. But I will be. I will be a new self." - -"Only the best of the old one, that is all I want," answered her lover. -"The past is like a garment which you wore for protection against the -storm. But there will be no more storms after this." - -"Because you have forgiven me, because you believe in me," cried Joan, -"you will make of me the woman you would have me!" - -"The woman you really are, or I would not have loved you," he said. - -And so it was that Joan Carthew's career ended and her life began. - - - - - Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London. - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL WHO HAD NOTHING *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39730 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. 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